


Two Fathers, One Son

by Failed_to_Deanon



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Family Issues, Father-Son Relationship, Implied/Referenced Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:53:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 25,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23608654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Failed_to_Deanon/pseuds/Failed_to_Deanon
Summary: They say a father-son bond is a special one, but, when there are two fathers and only one son something has to give.
Relationships: Aegon VI Targaryen (Son of Elia)/Margaery Tyrell, Baelor Hightower/Elia Martell, Past Elia Martell/Rhaegar Targaryen - Relationship
Comments: 144
Kudos: 244
Collections: Southern Renaissance (Dorne Renaissance)





	1. Rhaegar

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing. All things recognizable are property of G.R.R. Martin, David Benioff, D.B. Weiss, & company, & the asoiaf wiki.
> 
> The title is taken from one of my favorite X-Files two-part episodes. While, if you are familiar with X-Files, in this fandom's canon, we already know which one would be the Mulder and which one is the Spender, but, since this is AU, that is not the case.

He pretends Lyanna hadn’t stiffened when the herald called Elia’s name. He cannot bring himself to turn towards Lyanna to offer a gesture of comfort. They must seem strong even if he does not feel like it. Seeing Elia, he knows he…they have to look strong. 

Lyanna’s hand twitched his. He pushes down the bile that keeps wanting to push past his lips. 

Jaeherys. Their poor boy…

Since the moment he heard the news of his son’s death, he had not known how to act. How does one cope when your son, your youngest child, died so far from home at that. There is no amount of comfort that he and Lyanna could give one another. 

Years before, had he acted differently Elia would be sitting next to him as his wife, not Lyanna. But, after the war, though Aegon remained his heir, Lyanna was the wife kept. Perhaps he would have never had to face this.

Perhaps, Lyanna believed Elia’s presence was a jape at their expense. He sent Elia away after their marriage was dissolved. And now, Jaeherys’s death brought Elia back to King’s Landing. 

Perhaps Lyanna thought Elia would not come. Perhaps, she hoped. Part of him hoped it too, but, he knew better. It was not because Elia wanted to be here. He knew she did not. He already knew Elia had no reason to hold any love in her heart for them. She had no love for the place, either.

Not that she would show it. Elia wasn’t the type…and if she was, it would be uncouth which Elia never was. 

He shoves down the part of him that does not want to see her. It does not matter he does not want to be playing the host. Elia was here, publicly at least, to offer condolences as any other subject of his realm and it was his duty as her king to let her offer them. As it is, she was also not the first to pay respects. She will not be the last. After all, the death of the king’s son is a matter of state, they both have to see one another even if neither desire it. Most importantly, he fully knew Elia was not here for him. 

Though no longer his wife, Elia was still the mother of both his eldest child and his heir. Her absence would have been noted. Rhaenys was with child and could not make the journey. In her place, her Tully husband, arrived some days ago. He does not doubt Elia would see Tully once out of the hall. Though their Rhaenys is absent, their Aegon was here, though. Of course, Elia would have come to King’s Landing to be near their son as he mourned his brother. 

And so, he cannot bring himself to turn to his wife. Instead, he keeps looking to Aegon whose eyes alight with joy that his face will not allow.

Clad in in the red and black of their house, with his back straight, chin up, and movements crisp, Aegon looks every inch of what a crown prince ought to, he thinks, as Aegon lead Margaery down the dais. Ever since he recalled Aegon from Dragonstone with his wife and son, Aegon acted accordingly; Margaery too. 

What he and Lyanna could not bring himself to do, and it seemed that list kept growing, Aegon and Margaery did. Aegon took his audiences, Aegon met with the Small Council in his stead, Aegon spoke to the High Septon, received Jaeherys body, the decisions for Jaeherys funeral rights, Aegon and his wife took charge of. Aegon’s wife corralled ladies of the household and undertook fulfilling the other arrangements in preparations for the funerary proceedings.

Though his heart is weary, he knows he is so proud of his eldest son. 

Eldest and now only.

He takes a deep breath. 

Jaeherys, the only child his queen could give him, was dead. His youngest died in Lys, far away, drowned. That was Jaeherys’ first and only voyage out of Westeros. Aegon ventured a handful of times, one voyage with one cousin, another with a different one. Jaeherys always begged to go too. Lyanna balked at each opportunity, but, this time, he let his son go. After all, Jaeherys was a man grown. He had let him and because of it, his son is dead. 

And now he has to sit silently watching Aegon and Margaery bow deeply to Elia. 

Aegon speaks first. “My lady mother, you honor me in my time of grief.”

Elia steps forward and raises her arms. “My son, your grief is mine.”

With that, mother and son embrace as if this was an everyday occurrence, though he himself knew he was the one to prevent it, even when he knew he ought not to have.

_Elia pleads, “Let me take him.”_

_He understands her fear, but, he cannot allow this. He will not. Aegon was his heir, his son’s place could not be far from him. She has Rhaenys. He knew not having both Aegon and Rhaenys tore at her, because the same tore at him, but, she had not fought because she knew he could have kept both their children. He thought she made peace with this as he had._

_He demands. “Is that why you came back?”_

_The tears she had not shed now gush out in an irate lament. “The only reason I am here is because my baby I nearly died to bring into the world for you, is on death’s doorstep. You think I want to be here? Where I spent the worst year of my life? I would have been happy to never set foot in these gods forsaken halls. But, you kept our son and now you kept his illness from me?”_

_“Elia, I swear. He was just sick. I just did not want to worry you.”_

_She laughs wetly. “Every day he is not in front of me, I worry. I was right to do so. When you keep my boy under the same roof as the person who has all the reasons to want him dead, of course I will!”_

_His eyes widen. He knew how he and Lyanna hurt her but this?_

_Shock and horror warring within him at the bald accusation, he demands, “Elia, calm yourself.”_

_“I will not be calm when you do not care if my son dies.”_

_“He is my son, too, Elia!”_

_“As you told me when you practically pushed me out of the gates. It’s barely been two years and look what happened since you left our boy in her care.”_

_He knew Elia had all the right to dislike Lyanna, but, to accuse his wife of this? “She did not-”_

_“You expect me to believe anything you say when it comes to her designs?”_

_“Lyanna has no designs.”_

_She laughs, the sound harsh. “Like she had no designs against me to get to you!”_

_“Elia, now is not the time.”_

_She demands, “When, then? When she holds a pillow across my son’s face.”_

_He grows white in horror. “Elia, you can say things without proof!”_

_“Her son and mine share a nursery, yet, only my son fell ill. What more proof do I need?”_ _He does not want to believe it. He cannot. Lyanna loves him. She would never endanger his children. Lyanna would never- He steps forward. “Children fall ill, Elia. I promise you this. That is all this is. I swear. Elia, you will trust me.”_

_She steps back. “All the world knows you do not care for me, but, act now for our son. You must not keep him here.”_ _She inhales deeply and straightens her spine. “Fear not Rhaegar, I will not waste my breath further when we both know you would go lengths to protect your wife at our children’s expense. How much more would you have me worry about him since you do not seem to at all? But, I cannot take the risk.”_

_“I cannot give him to you Elia. He is my heir.”_

_“And how long do you think that will last if she does manage to kill him?”_

_“Elia, I gave you our daughter, I will not give your our son, too.”_

_She almost looks to strike him. “Then, send him to Dragonstone, to your mother. Because he is your heir, it would have been his seat one day. Send him there.”_

_Had she gone mad? “Dragonstone? What?”_

_“If you will not give him to me, his mother, then send him to her, to yours. He was born there, the household is still the same, yes? Men and women we can both trust?”_

_“You can trust me.”_

_She shakes her head wildly. “I trusted you when we married. I trusted you at Harrenhal. I trusted you when you returned to King’s Landing. I trusted you when you said our son would be better off with you.”_ _She straightens her back. “If you cannot bear to give Aegon to his mother, send him to yours. I will deliver him to Rhaella myself if that is what it takes to make you take the threat to our son’s life seriously.”_

After they both went to Dragonstone to give their son to Mother’s care, they barely saw one another and most of those moments occurred when their children were grown. But, those were happier times: Rhaenys’ wedding at Riverrun; Aegon wedding Margaery Tyrell at the Great Sept; the birth of their eldest grandchild, his dear Edmyn. The last time they saw one another was Aemon’s birth on Dragonstone. 

Just as then Margaery, too embraced Elia and called her mother. Unlike then, this was not a happy time.

But, there was one other common thing and the thing that makes his blood boil most: Elia on arms of her husband, Lord Baelor Hightower. 

He hated Baelor Hightower since day after they celebrated his mother’s forty-fifth Name Day. His mother asked him to join her and Aegon in breaking their fasts and letting him know that Ser Baelor, as the man was called then, would be joining them. He had not thought anything of it, after all, he had been too busy with the festivities and, in truth, he rather enjoyed being led around Dragonstone by his son. 

_Baelor turned towards him looking, mournful. “My king, if you recall, my lady wife, Rhonda, succumbed to sweating sickness some years ago.”_

_He nods remembering, too well, the sickness flew through much of the kingdom. “A terrible loss.”  
Baelor, still seeming despondent, “It was for myself and my two sons; the rest of my family as well. But, as it is, with my father being so ill and my mother having to devote herself to his care, the care of my house and Oldtown falls to me.”_

_Naturally,” he remarks, waiting for the man to continue._

_Then, the man does: “One of my duties includes finding a wife and mother to my children. I have been in negotiations for marriage and they have since concluded.”_

_A wedding invitation. Was that it? Such a simple thing._

__

__

_Then, Baelor smiles. “The Queen Dowager”, the Reachman nods politely to his mother who politely nods back “has accepted an invitation on her own behalf of course, but, most of all Prince Aegon’s presence would delight me and of course, my betrothed.” Then Baelor turns to Aegon with that bright smile and Aegon returns it._

_He blinks. His son?_

_“Aegon?”_

_Aegon turns to him, looking hopeful, and well, he cannot afford to offend the Reach though why the man would want his son at the wedding outside of politics is beyond him. “Of course, he can attend.”_

_Baelor smiles at him. “Excellent, it would mean so much to Elia and Rhaenys.”_

_Surprised, he blinks. But, when his mother replies, “It would”, he practically strains his neck with the speed by which he turned to her._

_He looks to mother who stared placidly back, betraying nothing and everything. He turns away when Aegon exclaims, “Mama and Rhae?”_

_His son’s face is practically shining._

Aegon smiles at the man the same way now. He embraces Lord Baelor just as tightly as he had Elia. It’s the breathless “Baelor, thank you for being here” that Aegon whispers and the man’s, “I am here for you Aegon. As always, whatever you need, just tell me,” has him clenching his fists.

Jaeherys died in Lys and Hightower’s youngest sister, Lady Lynesse, who resided in Lys had been called by the city’s leadership to identify his son’s confused and alarmed companions who reported his son missing. Later Lady Lynesse arranged for their son’s remains to be brought back to Westeros along with his son’s distraught companions. 

He vaguely remembered the woman, but, Lyanna darkly recounted the story of she and her husband were exiled and the lady promptly abandoned her husband, to become the favored concubine of a wealthy Lyseni merchant. While Lyanna held little regard for the woman due to the high regard the ladies of Bear Island had for the Starks, his hatred was reserved for the woman’s brother.

It tore at him to have to share his Rhaenys with Baelor, but, why did Aegon, too, feel drawn to the man?

After the Elia wed the man and Aegon and his mother returned from Oldtown, he had visited Dragonstone. 

He had been curious, and it was not as though he could make demands of Doran Martell and he certainly was not going to write to Elia. 

To him, his mother, with a too blank face, said the ceremony had been “A relatively intimate affair. Quite tasteful”. And he thought that was that until she said other things to Viserys. 

_“Elia already had a grand wedding; Ser Baelor, too. The Rowans would have been insulted if this wedding of Ser Baelor’s was more lavish than the one where he married Lady Rhonda and Elia did not want to make a show of it. People’s tongues wag swiftly enough. Elia is happy with her Ser Baelor. Most importantly, Elia and Rhaenys are cared for and he welcomed our Aegon well.”_

He’d hoped to get more from Ser Gerold, Lord Leyton’s uncle, because he attended as well. The man came back saying, “It went quite well” and both pretended the White Bull’s shoulders had not returned from his childhood home slumped. 

This time he asked his mother what that was about, and she had been less circumspect.

_She said, “No matter how practiced a lady is, no bride wants a man at a wedding who was an active participant in ruining her first marriage.”_

_He pushes down the guilt he feels. “Ser Gerold did not do that. I did.”_

_Face growing dark, his mother replies, “Yes, and he just stood by and watched; something he has done for years.”_

_At that he feels a different type of guilt well up. But, not so much that it distracts him._

_“Was she rude to him?”_

_His mother drew her back up. “Of course not. Outside of pleasantries she ignored him. It is no fault of hers that Lord Leyton or other lords of the Reach had little to say to a man who hid out in a war while their kinsmen were fighting for us.”_

_He feels her words like a slap. “The war was years ago.”_

_His mother glides towards the window to look out to where he knew Aegon was training Dragonstone’s courtyard. Then she turns back to him, she says, “My son, when so many reap the consequences of that which they had not decided themselves, such a thought has little merit.”_

When he asked Aegon about the wedding in between the expected if uncomfortable litany of things about Elia and Rhaenys his son gushed about, and every other sentence was, “Baelor this”, “Baelor that”, and “Look what Baelor gave me”.

He tried to hide his jealousy then, fearing that would only cause Aegon to cling to his mother’s husband. He thought that would stop after a few months. After all, when he was here, there was no need for Baelor Hightower. 

But, he was not always there for his son and Aegon had grown to a man who had not ultimately needed him and, to him, it showed. Since his mother passed, Aegon had taken the reins at Dragonstone fully. It was a comfort because he knew he could trust Aegon with the realm’s future. It was less of one because it reminded him of how little time he truly spent with his eldest son until Aegon, then a man grown, started spending more time in King’s Landing fully embracing his duties as Crown Prince. 

Aegon had since he was a boy. While he could only go to Dragonstone so often, he wrote and he had regular reports from his mother on Aegon’s progress. Through them he realized that his mother started to send Aegon to visit nearby lords. The first was to close destinations such Driftmark and then to Lord Jaremy Rykker of Duskendale but also to Sunspear where she had to leave Viserys. Those he had worried about, yet, not questioned. 

But, on the heels of Aegon’s second trip to Oldtown he asked her what prompted those.

_She looks at him tiredly. “To quell any troublesome rumors before they start in earnest.”_

_“What rumors?”_

_Hs mother looked as though she was close to striking him. Then she asks a question that horrifies him._

_“Aegon is your heir, yes?”_

_His eyes go wide. “Of course, he is. Why would you even ask that?”_

_His mother shakes her head, “As much as it pleases me to hear you say it, I fear, Son, that no one is going to believe it when you do not show it.”_

_“What do you mean?”_

_She presses her lips together. “Did you think no one else witnessed you staying silent as your wife denies your son what you already promised he could have because his brother wants something else after he has been absent from the Red Keep for more than a year?”_

_He flushes uncomfortably. “It was a matter of sweets.”_

_His mother harrumphs. “Today, it was sweets. What about his birthright tomorrow?”_

_“I would never replace him as my heir.”_

_“When you replaced his mother, would it surprise anyone if you replaced her son for your current queen’s?”_

After that, he let his mother do as she liked when it came to Aegon’s upbringing. To see how mindful and dutiful Aegon is and to see his affable and sharp son grew to be a man cognizant of his duties made him proud. 

But, the way Aegon’s fulfilled his duties the more they seemed to intertwine with now Lord Baelor’s own and Aegon welcomed it, only caused him to hate Baelor Hightower even more.

He remembers sitting in his solar with Lyanna and Aegon before Rhaenys’ wedding.

_“Aegon, now that your sister is nearly settled, I think it is time we would discuss your own marriage.”_

_Aegon drew himself up. “Yes, I suppose it is. When will you write to Oldtown?” Aegon frowns. Then, his face alights with certainty. “Or do you think I should? Mother might take it better coming from me. Yes, I should write her.”_

_“Elia?”_

_Aegon laughs uproariously. “Father, really? I would have felicity in my household. I can see no greater disaster than to have my wife and my mother at odds. I am certain the High Tower can spare her.”_

_He feels foolish. Of course, Elia should have a say in who Aegon marries. And though his regrets are not quite those his mother wishes he felt, remembering how deeply he underestimated his mother’s reticence towards his second marriage, he thinks, perhaps, his son is not wrong._

_Then, Aegon smiles. “Baelor might have a thought or two as well.”_

_It is on the tip of his tongue to ask him why Baelor Hightower should have an opinion on his son’s marriage, but, he could not demand Aegon listen to Lyanna and exclude Elia’s husband from voicing ‘a thought or two’._

_Even as he thinks that, Aegon says: “Well, I suppose we don’t have to write now. We will see our Mother and Baelor at the wedding. You all can see which house of the Reach will work for us best.”_

_Lyanna asks, “You want to marry a woman of the Reach?”_

_Though she tried masking it, he senses Lyanna’s dismay. She hoped to finally heal the rift with the North by marrying Aegon to one of her nieces._

_Aegon shrugs. “Your Grace, as you know, the Reach has been one of our staunchest allies.”_

_Though far an in-between an occurrence, he marked how Lyanna was always “Your Grace” but Elia’s husband was “Baelor”. And yet, as always, he hesitated to comment for fear of Aegon taking it wrongly. Besides, he told himself, Lyanna never objected._

_He tries to ignore Lyanna’s frown. The Reachmen had been allies of his house, but, for Lyanna, as much as they both tried to move past the war, the Reachmen did not warm to Lyanna as much as they’d hoped. That Elia was married to one…_

_Then, Aegon muses, “There are too many houses in the Reach with daughters of an age to seek a husband. The Tyrells alone…Lord Mace has a daughter, Lady Margaery. Three of Lord Mace’s cousins all have at least one daughter; Ser Leo has two, in fact. Lord Paxter’s daughter, Lady Desmera, is also Lord Mace’s niece by his sister. Beyond them, Lord Tarly has three daughters. Our sister speaks highly of Lady Talla particularly.”_

_The more his son speaks, he finds himself nodding along. Aegon speaks sensibly._

_Then, Aegon’s face softens. “Many ladies of note will attend our sister’s wedding. I have had the opportunity to be acquainted with a number of them, of course, but, I think it best, Father, if you see for yourself who you think would suit us best. We can also become more familiar with the ladies of the Riverlands before we need to decide. Of course, since our sister is already marrying her fish, there is no reason to be overly generous to the Riverlands with a royal match, I think.”_

He found himself agreeing, then. He had been impressed. His Aegon’s reasoning was well founded and, in truth, he had been in no rush. He dismissed Aegon then. At the time he thought nothing of the way Aegon looked relieved, but, then, he learned how little faith in him his children had on the day of Rhaenys’ wedding.

_He hears Aegon say, “You look beautiful, Sister.”_

_Rhaenys retorts. “You are just saying that because you are my brother.”_

_“I am saying it because it’s true.”_

_Rhaenys retorts, “You are supposed to say that to the bride.”_

_Aegon guffaws. “Are you calling me a liar?”_

_He smiles as his children share a laugh. It dies when Aegon says, “But, you aren’t happy. Does Edmure not please you?”_

_Rhaenys says, “He does.”_

_Aegon asks, “Then, what?”_

_“It should be Baelor walking with me.” What? How could his daughter say that?_

_Aegon sighs and wraps an arm around Rhaenys’ waist. Then, Aegon says, “Let him have this, Rhaenys, you had Baelor for the rest.”_

_What? And the way Aegon said it…Had Aegon wanted-No!_

_Rhaenys lets out a frustrated sound. “I’m sorry, Aegon. I do not mean to be selfish. And I know it’s only a few moments-”_

_Aegon sighs again. “There is nothing for you to be sorry about. I will not pretend that I spent many nights on Dragonstone wishing that I was with you and Mother. But, you know Father would have never allowed it. He barely allowed me to visit when I was old enough to ask and-”_

_Rhaenys finishes, “He would have found an excuse to forsake you as he did mother and I.”_

_Is that what children think? It tore at him to be separated from Rhaenys, but, he couldn’t in good conscious keep both children from Elia. Aegon had been his heir, so he had to part with Rhaenys. Besides, did not daughters need their mothers? And Aegon? He would have never forsaken him. Had only sent Aegon to Dragonstone because of Elia’s worry. He would have never otherwise! Who had told them such lies? How long had Elia been filling their heads with this nonsense?_

_“It’s not fair,” Rhaenys starts. “Baelor was the one who taught me how to run up those steps without tripping, the one who I went to drive the nightmares away, the one who would let me accompany him to the Citadel, he was the one who bought my first hawk, helped me tame it. And now, on my wedding day, he has to sit in the audience because Father wants to drape me in colors I never wore and trot down the Sept in Rivverrun on his arm as if he didn’t throw me away before I was barely old enough to walk upright.”_

_He feels his heart crack even as he hears shuffling. Then, as if his heart could not shatter more, he hears Aegon say, “If I had my way, I would let you do as you like, but, I do not. We must uphold traditions. It isn’t fair, but, as you said, it is only a few minutes. People will talk-”_

_Rhaenys huffs, “I know, Little Brother. And blame will fall on Mother for my impertinence. I will not allow that. I was never going to embarrass Mother and Baelor, certainly not at my wedding to a Tully of all men.”_

_He can hear Aegon’s smile. “Family, Duty, Honor.”_

_Rhaenys laughs. “I mean to honor our family by doing my duty. Our mother and Baelor deserve the best of me.”_

He recalls Aegon concluded: “They do” but all he truly heard then was: “Our mother and Baelor” and he found himself stepping away in a clouded haze.

The phrase followed him when his daughter walked regally towards the Sept on his arm and in his colors though there was nothing demonstrating she wanted anyone else next to her. They kept repeating later when he took a dance with her, with her practiced moves feeling slightly stiff and unfamiliar to him. All he could think of was that was his doing. That jealousy that flared when he remembered Aegon’s childish face at Dragonstone, flared when he watched his daughter effortlessly gliding in Baelor Hightower’s arms.

He understood Rhaenys’ sentiments. He let Elia keep Rhaenys and where Elia went Rhaenys was going to follow. Yet, the ease by which Aegon too, embraced the Reachman as his own unnerve him.

He had seen it each time they revisited the matter of Aegon’s marriage. 

Perhaps, had Aegon not been correct about the virtues of the young ladies of the Reach, he might have been able to put it behind him, but, Aegon had been correct. Still, he attempted to cast a wide net. After all, this is a matter of his eldest son and heir. He could just not restrict himself to search for a bride from one region alone. As it happened, Aegon did not either, but, the results of Aegon’s own brand of study came with other unpleasant realizations. 

_Aegon considers. “It is a shame that there is no daughter from a Crownlands house of age to marry. Of course, with Dorne, even if Arianne has not already wed Uncle Viserys, the thought of marrying my own cousin sits not well with me. Ynys Yronwood?”_

_Despite his own misgivings and Lyanna’s, he is glad when Elia shakes her head. “She is spoken for. She is to marry Ryon Allyrion.”_

_Seemingly unaffected, Aegon says, “Do you know when? I should send a gift.”_

_Elia says, “Some months. You might go. Arianne and Viserys are attending. Tyene and Sarella are as well.”_

_Aegon remarks, “It would be good to see them and the rest again, too.”_

_Aegon and Elia share a fond look. Elia says, “Naturally. Shall I write or will you?”_

_Aegon says, “I will write myself.” Then Aegon asks Elia, “Should I bother considering other houses-”_

_Elia smiles ruefully. “As much as I would like it, outside of Dorne would be more beneficial for you at present.”_

_Aegon continues blandly, “Any lady I may have considered would deem it better to be a lady in her own right.”_

_While Baelor and Elia do not even flinch, he and Lyanna share uncomfortable glances. They all know what Aegon refuses to say: Dorne will not give him any good-daughter even if Aegon was to be king. Giving Viserys to Doran’s heir had not changed how low they thought of him now._

_Aegon coughs and starts again. “I do not fancy taking a bride from the Stormlands; best to leave them alone. As to the Westerlands?”_

_Elia remarks, “If you must, Joanna Marbrand is a lovely girl though I do not fancy being tied forever to the Lannisters; Ser Jaime excepted.”_

_Before he can even mention Lyanna’s nieces, Baelor flashes a grin Aegon and asks, “Who were you considering, Aegon?”_

_Aegon replies, “Plenty, though I think Lady Margaery, Lady Desmera, and Lady Talla, would be best to choose from.”_

_Elia and Hightower nod along; not surprised at Aegon’s choices. Why would they? All Reach ladies. Aegon continues, “In addition to being well dowered, they are of an age with me.” Then to Hightower, Aegon cheerfully grouses, “This would have been easier if Leto or Duncan had been born a girl.”_

_His heart clenches when Hightower, laughing, thumps Aegon’s shoulder while Elia titters. Hightower grins, “Margaery is my niece, you know.”_

_Aegon smirks, “The Redwynes are just as wealthy as the Tyrells and have a grand fleet.”_

_Hightower throws his head back and laughs uproariously. “A Redwyne? You wound me, Boy”, Hightower says, laughing, to his son, before Hightower turns to Elia. “When did your son become so impudent?”_

_His jaw clenches when Elia laughs. “From me,” she says. “I thought you liked that.”_

_Hightower brings Elia’s hand to his lips to press a kiss to it._

_He pretends he does not see Aegon’s fond look and how grateful he’d been when he had to postpone subject once again when called away._

The last time he approaches Aegon they were alone, he starts with Lyanna’s suggestion. One, he notes, Lyanna had no opportunity to present.

_“What of Lady Sansa?”_

_Both Lyanna’s nieces had been at his daughter’s wedding. Lyanna seemed to gravitate towards the younger one; the one who shared her looks. However, due to her age, she barely registered with Aegon. Lyanna reluctantly admitted the elder girl, Sansa, might suit Aegon better._

_Aegon asks, “What of her?”_

_Lady Sansa, he saw, was a lovely girl, polite, and had the correct graces. Lyanna, however, had been less than pleased at how the girl followed her mother’s faith just as closely as she respected her father’s and how little Lady Sansa and she had in common. Still, she seemed to fit well with Rhaenys and the gaggle of ladies his daughter kept company with. That allowed him to approach Aegon with the match._

_He asks, “You would not have her as a wife?” though he already suspects the answer. The girl was of age with some of the Tyrell cousins Aegon already stopped considering._

_With an impassive face, Aegon questions him, “Do you require it of me?”_

_Painfully aware of how little regard Aegon seems to think he has of him, he concludes, “You would rather not.”_

_Without hesitation Aegon replies: “No.”_

_“Is this due to your mother’s sentiments?”_

_With obvious reluctance, Aegon replies, “While I would be a poor son in failing to take my mother’s sentiments into account, I hesitate to entertain a less than advantageous match, I fear, you would have me consider only due to Her Grace’s sentiment.”_

_That, he had not expected of Aegon. Perhaps he should have. Aegon was always conscientious. Perhaps too conscientious, he thinks, dismally recalling that conversation between his eldest children. But, Aegon was not wrong. He had observed how the Northmen, while polite, had not embraced his wife as warmly they might have once even in a felicitous setting. No doubt, Aegon saw the same._

_Still, he tried again. “Is not the queen wise in saying we should bind our families closer? Our relations are not as they should be.”_

_For now, Aegon straightens. “As you say, the lack of warmth is troubling. However, that alone cannot drive our decisions. Father, we have been long since linked to Winterfell through your marriage and my brother. And now my sister is good sister to Lady Stark. Unlike Lord Jon Arryn and Lord Hoster, you pardoned Lord Stark as you had our cousin, Baratheon, when it was only our cousin who had not taken up arms against us. You have consistently sent men and resources to the Wall and you also took charge of the fight against the Ironborn. As is our duty, we will continue to do provide for the North; but, how much more should we try to fill a bottomless pit? While I can understand Her Grace’s yearnings, the realm does not begin and end in Winterfell.”_

_While Aegon pauses for breath, despite himself he cannot find himself to interject. The set of Aegon’s hands as they wrapped themselves against the edge of his chair’s arms, and the sharpness of judgment glinting from eyes that mirror his own should not have startled him, but, he sits frozen. Is this what supplicants seeking mercy for their wrongdoings on Dragonstone felt when Aegon sat in judgement?_

_Was he doing wrong in pressing this? Was he truly going to fight his son on this? But, this was not his son, Aegon. The man in front of him was Aegon, the realm’s Crown Prince. And, once again, he knew the Crown Prince had the right of it. This was not the first time it has been implied that marrying Lyanna had been disadvantageous. In truth, there had been resentment form certain quarters, not just Elia’s family, regarding the concessions he had made to the North at Lyanna’s desperate urgings._

_He finds himself breathlessly entranced when Aegon begins anew, “There is no wisdom in leaving our proven allies with nothing but our thanks so that we may continue to reward our former enemies. That is also why I have not considered a match with the Vale, either. But, you are my father and my king. I will do as you wish.”_

_Still, he finds himself asking, “Are you certain your ties to the Reach do not influence your decisions?”_

 _For a moment, Aegon lets slip usually unseen irritation. But, only a moment. Though he barely even moved, where Aegon had been relaxed, now, there was now a resolute majesty in the way he seemed to be filling the chair he sat in. “Uncle Doran thought to have my mother marry where doing so benefits House Martell. I will not pretend I do not sleep easier knowing that the Crownlands and Dorne bracket the Stormlands, the Reach and the Riverlands bracket the Westerlands, and the Riverlands blocks the Vale. However, but, that only reminds me that my responsibility is to ensure the preservation of the Seven Kingdoms, not just to make second hand amends to one.”_

_As if he felt the need to soften the blow, Aegon continues, “Father, should you believe it necessary to bind ourselves further to Winterfell, I have a brother for whom such a match might hold appeal.”_

_The words Aegon unsaid were heard all the same._

_Remembering the warning in his mother’s voice so long ago and yearning he heard in Aegon’s so recently, he knows already pressed the matter enough. “Who do you prefer?”_

_He belatedly remembers Baelor Hightower already asked his son a similar question many moons ago._

_Aegon decides: “Margaery Tyrell. Lady Talla would be a worthy wife and has the correct graces, but, put a Tarly over a Tyrell and even the Redwynes would sneer. The Tyrells are wealthy and have been allies of ours since the Conqueror. Also, like the Tully’s, the Redwyne’s are owed a royal match, Lady Margaery’s grandmother was born a Redwyne, and was the Redwyne specifically owed the match, in fact. Lady Margaery also has an aunt who married another Redwyne. Through her, it gives us a fat Tyrell dowry, Tyrell goods, and access to the Redwyne resources.”_

_Seeing the eager yet firm set of Aegon’s mouth, his throat tightens. Aegon’s decisions are always sound. He tries not to think of why. His eldest children rarely ask him for much beyond being allowed to see one another, he thinks guiltily. He tries not to think about how grateful Aegon looks when he tells him he will write to Lord Tyrell._

Margaery had proved herself worthy of being Aegon’s wife and future queen, but, seeing his good-daughter with Elia and her husband only reminds him that it was Baelor’s niece Aegon had wanted.

In the same way that though grated upon him, so too does watching Aegon move to embrace the young man who previously stood silently. Aegon smiles, though it is not a wide one. “Thank you for coming, Duncan.”

Duncan, Baelor’s son, embraces Aegon back. “Aegon, how have you been keeping?” 

“It has been difficult. But, we must-” Aegon pauses, “I am well as can be. What of you? And how is Leto?” 

Leto, Lord Baelor’s his heir had not come. “He is well. He wanted to attend to you, but-”

Aegon says, with warmth evident in his tone, “Though I should have liked to see him as well, it is good our brother is mindful of his duty though our duties keep us separate.”

Aegon calls Baelor’s son, Brother, but being here to mourn Jaeherys, a duty.

He wants to scream but, he cannot do anything.

They were being watched. Even if he disliked the words, he could find no fault in them. There was no great level of mourning Elia and her other kinsmen would do here without it seeming false. Aegon knew that. And even if there was no one else watching, how could he demand Aegon be more effusive when he, himself, was never was capable of it?

As much as he disliked this closeness Aegon had with Elia’s husband, he is not his father to go ranting and raving at nothing objectionable. To treat Aegon as though he had done wrong when he had not would make him exactly like that. 

With Elia in front of him and Lyanna at his side, he thinks, of course, Aegon would be so careful to maintain cordial relations with the Lord of Oldtown. As much as he thinks Aegon would have never thought him capable of acting as his father once might have, while Jaeherys had lived, what else had his second son been except a reminder to Aegon that he could have been forsaken as his daughter thinks she had been? 

If he ever betrayed his eldest son, while Martells might have been angry and perhaps the Baratheon’s would have taken the opportunity, but, Aegon would have also had Baelor Hightower to turn to.

That thought is what causes his eyes to burn with unshed tears.


	2. Baelor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is implied violence/death and implied smut in this chapter.

He discreetly glances at the Sept. It has been too long since he had cared for any of them. He had not been a believer since he lost Rhonda. Not even his children or finally winning Elia’s hand made him regain his faith. He doubts he ever will be a believer again. But, he gives the Seven their due, even if in name only. It is his duty now. He is the Lord of Oldtown. He must set an example to his children, family, and his people. 

This Sept, however…

The last time he was in King’s Landing, he and Elia had been here was to see Aegon and Margaery marry. And they had done so with all due pomp and circumstance. Most of all there had been joy. 

Now, they were here for less auspicious circumstances. He looks towards Elia and takes her hand in his. Elia smiles slightly and squeezes his. While she had no love for the boy himself, her mother’s heart would want to be here for Aegon as he mourns his brother. But, she turns towards their son and he resumes his examination of the building.

The Great Sept of Baelor is truly magnificent. It is odd in a way. Despite its original simple purpose, it was opulent by design. Today, every inch of marble is scrubbed to blinding white. He glances up, towards the high dome. The mix of glass and gold and crystal only heighten the glow of the lamps lighting the halls. 

A splendid building. Naturally, such splendor made it perfect for coronations and weddings. And true to form, this Sept was an ideal setting for a royal funeral.

Well, not quite ideal. They are here to mourn the death of a young man, a prince, barely approaching his prime. The boy had so much of life to look forward to or, so it was said. The Starks finally gave in, his Rhaenys recounted to him, after she learned it through her Tully husband.

While he does not understand the appeal of such a union, he supposes it might have held some for the boy’s parents. The boy’s mother was born of a match between close kinfolk and the boy’s father was himself of a union between brother & sister born from another union of brother & sister. The pair would gravitate to such things. Not him. 

All for naught, he has heard it said. After the betrothal had been announced, the boy set out to travel, to engage in youthful indiscretions away from his watchful parent’s eyes. And for it, his life was cut short.

His boys are not so much younger than the prince had been. He would have been crushed had such a fate befell his own children, yet, he is not so lax in his care for his boys. He never could be. He made that mistake once, years ago. 

Never again.

He looks toward the dais. There is an effigy of the boy’s likeness. Typically, the body would have been on display, but, there were only bones. Lynesse wrote the sight of the young man’s body had been troubling; bloated, she had said. The elements were not so kind, she had recounted. The boy’s companions had been distressed as well. Preserving his body with the flesh intact was not viable for travel over the sea and showing only the bones would be too morbid. He thought Aegon had the right of that. 

He thinks it is an accurate likeness. He had only seen his wife’s first husband’s other son a handful of times and spoke to him even less. In truth, he had no need to do it. 

Yet, he knows Aegon and Margaery would not allow for anything less than a good likeness. 

He looks off the dais to where they stand at Rhaegar’s right. He feels a brush of pride at the way they comported themselves so far. He feels this often, but, in this, there is a dignity in the way they stand together, their hands linked with little Aemon between them. 

While he is not a man of faith and though they are not children of his body, he is blessed to have a hand in their upbringing. Before them all is an image for people to take comfort in; a proper prince and a princess consort together in with unity and a clear show of a line that perseveres. The realm that will one day be Aegon’s charge needs to know that and see that. It warms his heart to see it. Years ago, he swore that he would do whatever it takes to see his family thrive and he has always striven to do exactly that.

Alas, the whole family was not here. Rhaenys, now heavy with child, could not make the voyage in her state. As his eyes skims the room, he sees red hair. He thinks about how it would have been good to see his girl, but, he is rather pleased she did not put herself at risk for this. He had heard once that death pays for life, yet, it would be, perhaps, an ill-omened thing for Rhaenys to be here. Even as his eyes move away from Tully red he resolves to speak to his daughter’s husband.

For a moment, he spares the king and he queen a glance. The king’s gaunt gaze is fixed on the dais as the High Septon conducts the last of the rights. The queen looks dazed. A worshiper of her gods, he doubts she ever comes here...and to be forced to be here for this. He would pity her, except, he is not so good a man.

He holds in a sigh. 

He will be glad when he leaves the Sept and King’s Landing entirely.

He does not care for this city and Elia doubly dislikes this place. As for the Sept? He had seen Elia marry Rhaegar here. That of itself will never bother him because Elia was not his and because of it, the world gave him Rhonda and she was no less dear as short their time was together. But, he dislikes it because the vows he witnessed Elia speak were spat back in her face not even three years after she spoke them honestly and only because Rhaegar dissolved a marriage that he should have never been allowed to; all for a union that only hurt the ones he loved.

He gives his wife’s hand another squeeze. 

As much as he loves and misses Rhonda, he cannot complain too much about happy accident allowed him to claim Elia for himself. But, that does not mean he wants to be here. He longs to be back home among his own people, in his own halls.

Through the corner of his eyes he spies Mace looking on and it takes everything in him not to clench his fists. As dear as his sister is to him, this good-brother is the one he likes least. He has for years and it takes every inch of strength in him not to show it. 

Yet, it is not mere dislike. He hated Mace and has for years. Ever since the day he saw Oberyn’s maester attending to his distressed nephew and seeing Willas’ tear-stained face does he regret that he would never do ill to his own family. 

He has lived a lifetime and he can still hear his boy screaming: “My leg, my leg! Father, Uncle!”

Willas, his poor boy. 

He will never forget! He will not allow it of himself.

No matter how much he wishes he can forget, he forces himself to remember Oberyn’s somber repentance, his father’s grey face, and his own horror. To this day he hears Mace’s undeserved pride turn to ranting and raving as though he was not at fault; that he had not been the one to push Willas into entering the lists that day. 

_“He is my squire. I am his master. He is not ready.”_

_“I’m his father, not you, and I say he is ready.”_

He closes his eyes and takes another breath.

Willas. His smart, kind, and beautiful boy. He chokes down his rage. 

His nephew and his squire…who now has to use a cane to walk even short distances; who can no longer run up and down the Tower stairs freely as he used to as a child; his boy denied a good wife though he is an heir to a fine house and mocked behind his back for being a cripple. 

Mace’s bluster crippled his boy.

He will never forgive Mace for reminding him, “He is my son, not yours” or father for saying, “Mace is right. Willas is his son. He means only the best for him”. 

Most of all he will never forgive himself for letting himself be swayed by such things.

That day, he swore; never again. He would never let any of his children suffer no matter if they were of his body or not.

And now, the bells toll. The rich and loud sound flow over him and past him.

The ceremony is complete. 

He takes another deep breath. Once more he looks to the dais where Aegon was speaking to the High Septon. No doubt they are discussing the final steps: incineration, and the placing of the remains down in the crypts. He does not spare the effigy a glance. 

His duty at the Sept is done.

His duty in the city is nearly done, he thinks, as he, Duncan, and Elia make their way out of this building. A few more days and they could return to their lives. Still, he will remain for as long as he must, for his boy. 

He failed one of his boys once. 

Never again.

* * *

After attending the obligatory feast, he, had, in fact, sought out Tully. Duty satisfactorily accomplished with the result, he brought himself to the rooms assigned to Elia only to be met by Aegon standing in front of her door. He frowns, concerned. He had not expected Aegon this time of night. As always, his presence is welcome, but, it was somewhat late. 

He looks at his wife’s son in askance. 

Aegon snorts. “Aemon ‘escaped’ his nurses again.”

He smiles. “And you think this is where he ended up?”

A smile twists at Aegon’s mouth, just a touch bitter. It’s one Aegon rarely lets anyone see. That rush of warmth knowing that Aegon trusts him fills him again.

Aegon tells him, “That’s where I always wanted to be.”

Aegon breathes out slowly and he put an arm around his boy’s shoulder. 

The smile Aegon gives next him is nothing like the morose one he witnessed minutes before. It was not carefree, of course, but, at peace. Then, Aegon says, “Grandmothers are indulgent where mother’s might not be. He was quite disgruntled that he was not allowed at the feast. At any rate, Margaery would have my hide if I don’t return him now that we are both free.”

The feast was well executed, though he had no doubt even before seeing the result. The king and queen had not attended and so it fell to Aegon and Margaery to act as hosts. Naturally, there was no need to disturb the mourning parents. No one had thought it strange and he certainly had not remarked upon it.

Now he and Aegon both let out forced laughter even as a memory of Margaery and Rhaenys sneaking into his study comes to him. They’d been playing a game; hiding behind a tapestry. They had been doing it poorly. Their giggling had been too loud. But, he remembers playing along. 

For his children, he will always play along.

But, Aegon was right. The feast was no place for a child who already had to put up with being well-behaved earlier in the day. And sure enough, he opens the door and there was Aemon tucked into his wife side, giggling in a way reminiscent of Aegon’s. 

Aegon clears his throat. “Aemon, this is not where you are supposed to be.” 

He swallows a smile when boy juts out his chin before donning an artfully shamefaced expression. Aemon straightens but, does not move. At least the boy has the sense to seem guilty even if he doesn’t feel it. Meeting his eyes, Elia’s lips twitch before she says, “Aemon was just keeping his old grandmother company.”

Closing the doors behind him, Aegon snorts and says, “You, Mother, are anything besides ‘old’”. He crosses the room to give Elia a kiss on the cheek which she receives with a smile.

“Is that so, Son?”

Aegon laughs softly, coming to kneel before Elia. “Fishing for complements, are we?”

Elia cups her son’s cheek gently. This gesture he had seen many times and he knew it was not enough for any of them. She asks of Aegon, “So what if I am?”

Aegon kisses her cheek again. “I am happy to give them, but, not tonight,” he says, becoming the stern father once more when turning to his son. “Aemon, you can see your grandmother tomorrow. Right now, I am certain your mother wants a cuddle.”

Aemon pouts. Still he lets Aegon scoop him up without too much fuss; though, not before Elia smothers the boy with kisses.

The boy, finally pried from Elia’s indulgent grasp, sends Aegon a woebegone look all too familiar to any father worth his salt. “And bed?”

“Bed.” Aegon nods, confirming, just a touch stern. “Say goodbye to Grandmother and Baelor.”

The boy waves before tucking his head into Aegon’s neck finally displaying exhaustion.

It’s not until the door closes that he starts pulling at his doublet. He asks Elia, “Are you alright?”

Even though she rises and readily takes his arm, he already knows her answer, “I hate being here.”

So, does he, his face darkening as they make their way towards the bedroom. Elia had other reasons to dislike the Red Keep up to and including the way she was unceremoniously dismissed from it. 

Were Aegon and Margaery not in King’s Landing, neither one of them would have bothered. Still, he would soothe his wife; an act he always takes pleasure in. He gives her a quick kiss as he guides her towards the bed. “It’s only for the next few days.”

Removing her outer gown, she says, “I would rather be anywhere else.”

He, too, would rather be at his own tower and it was not as though they were here for pleasant business. Well, at least he can let her know of something she can delight in. “I spoke to Tully.”

Curious, she asks, “Yes?”

He smiles as they sit together of the edge on this borrowed bed. He takes his free hand and wraps a finger through a strand of loose hair. “When this business is done, you and I are going to Riverrun.”

“Really?” She beams at him, ecstatic. Then she asks, “Duncan?”

His wife’s elation is infectious as he grins back. “He’s been thinking of gifts already.”

She pounces on him and presses eager lips to his. Gods, how he loves this.

When they pull apart, he asks, “So, that makes you happy?”

She gives him another peck on the lips. “So very happy.”

“I am glad.” He means it. Then his expression turns sly, “But, I would have my payment now, if you please.”

She laughs and goes to lay back. “What would you like?”

He removes his tunic and gives her a wink. “I am sure you can think of something.” He runs a hand up her calf.

Not quite scandalized, she asks, “Here?”

He grins. “Why not?”

“Someone may hear us!”

He grins the way he knows she always melts for. “It’s late enough besides. And so what if it is not? They hear us in the Tower. Why not the Red Keep?”

His grin stretches when she laughs. Still, ever the proper princess, Elia reminds him, “This is not our place.”

This should have been. Gods forgive him, but, he is not always a good man. His wife deserved the world; the same as his children. He cannot give his wife her true due; he cannot change the past or erase the humiliation she faced or the years of being without her youngest child under their roof. But, because he could not do that, he will ensure that her son gets all that he is due! That he could do during the day, but, on this night, that same savage part of him wants someone to overhear the pleasure he gives his wife.

He presses his lips to hers, cupping the back of her head in his hands. “And, yet, you, my dear, are already on a bed and I would have you at ease on this night and all the rest. Such things can be comforting, yes?” 

In the silence, he lets go of his wife to toss his shirt on a nearby table.

“We shouldn’t. It would be uncomfortable if someone were to overhear.” 

He huffs. They are behind closed doors. They are not so young anymore that they are too adventurous as to be shocking. 

What does it matter if someone hears? It is nothing to him if anyone else is bothered by it, not on this night or any other. They are hardly newly wedded. Even if they had been, should he does not care if all the Red Keep know he and his wife enjoy one another. In fact, the thought of it happening sends a thrill through him.

While it may be unseemly, what does death teach besides to enjoy life? And he will enjoy his life, he decides, as he removes his breeches. “I did not hear a “No”.

Elia rolls her eyes. “I didn’t say ‘yes’, either.” The way her legs spread tells him otherwise.

He clamors between them, running his hands against their softness, inching his hands higher and higher. He grins when she does not protest. Then again, why would she protest a familiar touch.

He smiles as he feels a shiver run down her body. “I think I can be pretty convincing. Besides, do not tell me you never wanted to -”

Elia laughs and pulls him closer. “You are such a fiend.”

As he reaches to pull off her shift, he thinks for those he loves, that is something he will never deny or feel badly for.

* * *

As he sits down, Aegon asks him, “Is Mother not joining us?” 

Remembering the feel of Elia against him, he finds himself smiling. “She will join us later, after breakfast. I sent someone to fetch her some.” 

A red-faced pair of servants saw that he had been in his wife’s borrowed rooms when they came to attend to Elia’s bath in morning’s first light. He could not say who they spoke to afterwards or who they spied for. Not that such a thing bothered him. Rather, that held some appeal. More than some, he thinks, holding onto his delight.

Duncan frowns, moving rising. “Is she sick?”

Fondly, he thinks it delightful that both his sons love his wife so. Even still, he says, “No. She is fine. Leave it. She will eat in her rooms.”

They both look unconvinced. It warms him how much they care for Elia, but, still. He will not be questioned on this. “Sit down. Enjoy your breakfast. She is fine, I promise you that.”

Aegon asks, “And you know this how?”

Now, it’s a bit too much. He should be a better man, but, he has not always been. He tells Aegon, “After you left, I kept her up and only just left her side less than an hour ago. She is fine. I trust I need not explain further than that.” 

Face now pink, Duncan all but demands, “We can speak of other things.” 

Aegon snorts, the tips of his ears growing red, as well. He snorts when they suddenly grow more interested in their food.

He pretends he does not see Oswell Whent, who came in with Aegon, frowning. Let the man frown. That man saw far more shocking things and participated in them during his time at Aerys’ feet and at Rhaegar’s. Elia told him things of what Aegon’s grandmother suffered and he knew Whent was among the ones who went missing during the war. Such a man does not get to show disapproval now. 

To the boys, he smiles somewhat apologetically. No matter how grown a man is, one hardly would want to hear such things about their mother. It does not matter if she was their mother by blood or by custom. Gods knew he would have disliked hearing such things even at his age. Still, he likes that he can discuss such things openly, within reason. Some things, children need not know, no matter how grown they are.

But, it is easy to push that thought away when faced with his boys. Different sons from different mothers. Watching them now seated side by side, easily speaking between themselves, he thinks that if only things had gone differently, Aegon could have been his…

He frees himself from that thought as quickly as it came. What is done is done and he has no cause to complain, not now when he has Leto & Duncan and Aegon looks to him as a father as well. Rhaenys, of course, always the daughter he never had. 

He is eager to see his darling again. He fondly remembers the first time he saw her at the Water Gardens, splashing about with her cousins and other children, wet curls flying this way and that. That was the day he swore to himself that he would claim for his own Elia’s children. He had not allowed her to go to without his affections and he had not allowed her to leave Oldtown on Tully’s arm with a trousseau filled with only things Rhaegar deigned to give. 

And for it, she has given him plenty, though, of all the little trinkets he had acquired over the years, one of his favorites will always be the first picture she drew for him; one of her ever-faithful companion, Balerion. Even Mathis kept his own drawing, that of a golden tree, from his golden girl. It had been a pleasant surprise for them both; Mathis because he was not expecting one and him because it was a sign that his family was growing.

Once more, he reminds himself to ensure the preparations for his journey to Riverrun are thorough and complete. 

He loves his sons, of course, but, once more he thinks it is a shame that Rhonda died before she could give him a daughter. Alas, he had lost her to the Stranger and Elia could give him no children without putting her life in danger, which he would never do. 

Still, he thinks he would have liked it if Aegon could be his son by more than his marriage to Elia. Aegon had joked about it once, but, he is content in that Aegon is both his son in thought and husband to his niece who just as good as a daughter to him.

Thankfully, from Willas forward, his sister’s children are more Hightower than Tyrell despite the coloring.That just made him more eager to give all of his children, of blood and bond, all that he can, even if it in ways he should not speak of, especially when their own fathers-

He shakes himself to be free of such maudlin thoughts. 

Besides, there are more important matters to discuss, it seems, when Duncan remarks, “Leto wrote.”

Aegon asks, “How is he?”

“He fares well though he reports nothing particularly exciting.”

“That is good,” Aegon adds. “Though, ‘nothing’? Surely, something is different.”

He takes a slight breath when Duncan mentions, “Oh, of course, I had not written. Sarella left for Oldtown for Sunspear some weeks ago.”

Aegon laughs, incredulously. “She left found something that was worth tearing herself away from her books?”

He wets his lips and tells himself to remain calm. He says, “She went to see her mother.” 

Duncan nods along. He already knew Elia’s niece long since left Oldtown. Aegon had no though there was hardly a need to involve Aegon in his cousin’s intent to travel.

Aegon asks, “Will she be in the Summer Isles long?”

There was nothing for it, then. He says, “She had not said. I do know she wanted to go through Tyrosh before she returned. Sarella was traveling the Archon’s daughter, you remember her? She went south through Lys then met up with her mother. That much I know.” 

There is no need elaborate. After all, some things are better off not known. And if they are, what would that mean for him?

Even then, Aegon proves quite sharp, if the glint in his eyes is any indication. Too sharp, perhaps. 

But, in the end, Aegon asks only: “I hope the lady is well.” 

It was difficult to hold in a snort. No woman could have become a captain of a ship like the Feathered Kiss if she had been prone to illness. Her daughter is no different in that regard. Both ladies were quite resourceful. Oberyn did well, there. 

Then again, so had Lynesse, he was forced to admit to himself. When he got that letter, he was glad that for once he is glad the love of his mother stayed his hand in not cutting his sister out of our lives completely. 

Just as well, after she shamed herself, Lynesse owed them.

Then, Duncan mentions, “She might join up with your cousins in Volantis.”

It is on that note that Viserys, recently sitting himself down at Aegon’s other side, adds, “Quent and Nym will be happy to hear that, I believe.”

He lets himself laugh slightly. Sarella had not been the only relative of Elia’s who travelled. Oberyn had said once that there was a freedom in his daughters being Sands, but, Doran, too, proved he was not such a martinet towards his children. All the better, as it turned out.

Aegon gives him a look, and then turns to ask to Viserys, “Why Volantis?”

“Nym’s grandsire is ill.” Viserys shrugs. “Before I left Sunspear, Arianne received word they left Norvos. Arianne’s pet Sand had written, they would have reached Volantis by know.” 

It’s not only his lips that twitch at Viserys’ reference to towards Ryon Allyrion’s boy though they all knew Viserys does not have true hatred for the bastard of Godsgrace.

But, it is not the consort of Sunspear’s Princess that has his attention. It is Aegon. He wonders what Aegon suspects…suspects because Aegon does not know, does he? 

Of course, Aegon had always been perceptive.

And still, no matter if all that can be proven he has done is give some money to his wife’s nieces and ensure that ties to his sister’s keeper are well maintained, he will not shrink from this.

Even if he had done more, he thinks back to Rhonda with their boys in their toddling years and then of each time Elia cried after Aegon was forced to leave her sight and the way she would clutch desperately at Rhaenys, Leto, and Duncan afterwards as if they would be torn from her, too. 

He also remembers how she diligently kept every scrap of paper that came to her from Dragonstone; both the ones that were clearly edited and the ones that were truly of Aegon’s own accord. He recalls each time the maids would question if the room they should clean the room they kept for Aegon or if the King had changed his mind once again about letting him visit.

He says, “The bond between mother and child is not one to take lightly. And as brief as it may be, to see their lady mother’s is, I think, a balm to the soul no matter how old a child may become.” 

Duncan gives him a small smile. Elia is the mother he remembers most. His youngest son was of barely two name-days when Rhonda passed, and Leto was barely three years older than Duncan.

Even Viserys’ gaze grow distant for a moment before coming to himself and saying, “Quite right.”

Then, he turns his attention back to Aegon, anxious to know what he would say. 

Perhaps, in this moment, Aegon’s natural sense of discretion would win out or not. They do have an audience, after all. Among their number was a knight who had long since proven himself to be Rhaegar’s man.

Perhaps Aegon reveals his deeds to Viserys. Viserys has little love for his brother, but, blood does call to blood and Viserys was Jaeherys’ uncle. 

In truth he had no such designs but that betrothal…

It just unnerved him Rhaegar so insistent on a Stark match? Were there no matches Rhaegar could have thought to give his third born child that would not be a threat to his for his eldest son? The Blackfyre rebellions taught him very much. 

It is no fault of his that Rhaegar ignored the lessons his own kinsmen taught Westeros. Was Aegon to suffer because his father’s recklessness? Today or tomorrow, the possibility alone…Though Rhaegar was far from Aegon the Unworthy, was not thoughtless worse?

Perhaps he had miscalculated. Despite everything, Aegon did like father’s other son; perhaps even loved him. As far as he knew Aegon never told Elia what his feelings towards his half-brother were; not that she would have minded. He certainly would not have. Yet, he truly does not know. 

He takes a breath. 

What is done is done.

And it was not as though he had any hatred for the boy, personally. But, the boy represented a dark part of his history and the potential for darkness for his family. As a man and a father he could not let that stand.

He and his brothers had to fight in a damn fool war because duty to their king demanded it, because Aerys’ treachery could have turned towards them. That war… His uncle was forced to hide in a decrepit tower while good men in service to his family were sent to die. 

And, for what? So Rhaegar could humiliate Elia further than he had at Harrenhal? 

He’d been a believer then and it incensed him to see sacred vows disavowed so cheaply. 

Perhaps that was why it was easy to let go of his faith when it finally died. After all, if the gods had been real, they should have never stood for that any of that.

That boy was living proof that there may be a day that he would have to witness Rhaegar throwing away yet another of his children as he already had with Rhaenys? 

Though over the years, he feels that anger less and less, particularly with Elia firmly by his side and knowing the high regard his wife’s children had for him, it is still a part of him. Perhaps, he is a selfish man in that way, but, as it is, Aegon was his family, twice over. He would not be a man if he did not seek to advance the security of his own family. Any true father would not think twice of what he had done.

Jaeherys Targaryen, of course, was an innocent, but, had not innocents suffered for the misdeeds of others? And even if he was innocent, even with Aegon wedded and a father, he was a danger even when the Starks kept finding some reason to delay the betrothal to the Lady Sansa until they stopped. Rhaegar could ignore it all he wanted, but, he would not and did not.

And now…

It seemed an eternity before Aegon looked at him. His face was too solemn in a way that reminded him uncomfortably of Rhaegar. When he spoke, his voice was steady if barely above a whisper. “That my uncles care for their children is something to be lauded, of course. Still, it does not compare to a mother’s love and proximity. Perhaps it is selfish of me, but, there were many nights on Dragonstone I wished for naught but my mother. I had grandmother, of course; still, it just was not the same.”

With that Aegon falls silent.

Viserys smiles sadly at Aegon who gives him the same smile back. Viserys had left Dragonstone at the age of ten and three to pay the price of his brother’s broken marriage. But, for some years, he and Aegon had shared a mother, just not Aegon’s. 

Of course, that Aegon loves his wife so dearly makes it so easy to feel that rush of love for her son. Still, as anxious as he is, Aegon’s wistful tone just stokes the fires of anger Rhaegar’s actions cause in him and the words give him pause. He cannot even allow himself the satisfaction of seeing Ser Oswell Whent flinch when he already dared too much.

By themselves, the words were innocuous; they do not feel that way. Not with the history behind them and he is a creature of politics just as much as Aegon is. If he is correct, Aegon will confront him even if he does not do it at the table. 

He decides to take whatever comes his way, no matter Aegon’s words. 

He had always been proud that Aegon is mindful of his past and how it was right that Aegon think about how the past determines the future. Good traits to have in a future king…and a son who may now hate him.

And just like that Rhaegar arrives. Once more, he wonders, what Aegon would do. Oswell Whent is one thing, perhaps, even Viserys. Rhaegar is quite another. After all, the pull of blood and of duty is not one to be ignored. Perhaps how he ignored it where Aegon stood will cause his own undoing. 

And yet, they were here now because Rhaegar had ignored the pull of both duty and blood when Rhaenys had been a toddling child and Aegon had been a babe.

There is very little to do besides wait and wait he does as Rhaegar takes his time to examine the table. 

The first thing he does is direct a question to Aegon. “Where is Elia?”

Aegon replies: “Baelor had her breakfast sent to her rooms.” Nothing in his tone betrays any other emotion. Despite himself he marvels at that though he knows Aegon is not one free with his emotions. 

Rhaegar frowns. Then he asks, “Is she ill?”

He holds in his distaste for both the question and Rhaegar himself with more than some difficulty. It is years too late for Rhaegar to act as if worried about Elia. He had shown all the realm enough to show that he had not. If Rhaegar ever cared for her, he would not be here now. Even if he were not tomorrow, he’d been there for her since Rhaegar joyfully abdicated his own rights to her a long time ago.

To Rhaegar, Aegon answers, “I’ve been told Mother slept late.”

Aegon says nothing further even though Rhaegar seems to want to ask. 

Yet, like him Rhaegar remains silent. 

Best savor what time of peace he has left. 

He is no fool to think that this is the last of it. Perhaps it is the beginning of something or perhaps the end. Whatever may come, he will abide by it. Aegon deserves that much from him, but, he will not fear it.

Aegon’s eyes are on him when he goes to cut up a piece of bacon. 

He would have preferred not to put Aegon in this position, but, he had not been the one to start this, was he? That blame went to Rhaegar, but, would Aegon see it that way? And if Aegon did, how far would the consequences of his actions spread?

For himself, he is not worried. He has lived a rich life and has no regrets. Whatever will come he will face it. He already made his choices. The boy was his doing. He did not carry the deed out, of course, but, this was his choice and he alone will take responsibility for it.

Of course, he fears for Elia, Rhaenys, Leto, Duncan, and even Margaery to say the rest of his family. They, of course, knew nothing. In this matter, he kept his own council as any man who could call himself would. He can only hope his actions will not spill to the rest of those he loves. And still, even if Aegon were to divulge his doings to Rhaegar, Aegon will protect them to the best of his abilities. This, he knows. Aegon would never let anyone harm his family.

The question remains: what now?

He is resolved though. Whatever Aegon decides for him, he will face it, as a man, a husband, and a father. His method was cruel; but, he will not apologize for doing right by his family, for their security. That is the ultimate duty of a father.

He thinks back to that moment years ago on Dragonstone when Aegon had been a boy, eager to see his mother and sister again. He swore that day that he would do right by him, love him as much as he did his own sons & grew to love Rhaenys. He swore that he was going to be a father to Aegon in both spirit and in action.

On the night of Aegon’s first time at Oldtown, he sat Aegon down in his rooms and promised that he would protect him from threats real and imagined. He has never wavered in that promise. Though he has not chosen the kindest way to do it, he is not Rhaegar who could pretend that Jaeherys would not or could not be a threat for Aegon.

Perhaps Aegon may hate him for it. That he is prepared for. After all, it is a fact of life that all fathers disappoint their sons, in one way or another. His own father; Rhaegar’s father, no doubt; Mace…they’ve all disappointed. He knew Rhaegar disappointed. Perhaps, now, it was his turn.

Does he lament that? Of course.

But, his food still goes down easy and he does not hesitate to meet Aegon’s eyes, prepared for whatever may come.


	3. Aegon

Sleep evades him. He shuffles up carefully, trying not to disturb Margaery.

Aegon runs a hand across his face while glancing at his wife. Even if his father had been the one to make the overtures, he chose Margaery. He had no regrets and she never gave him cause to have any. She always strove to be a good wife to him once she found her footing on Dragonstone and they found their footing with one another as husband and wife, not just guest and hostess or man and sister’s friend. 

Since they had been here, there had been so much to do what with the funeral and the press of guests which she managed. She always did manage whatever came their way, no matter where they had been. 

As weary as he feels, he smiles at how fitfully she sleeps. But, on this night, he covets her ability to rest. 

He always welcomed her counsel. He could use some of it now.

He reaches for her but pulls back before his hand lands on her nearest shoulder.

He swallows and settles his hand against his side again. He never wanted to be a poor husband. He could not do this to her. In her condition, she should rest, even if he cannot. No, he thinks, he cannot bring her into this. He does not wish to add to his wife’s burdens. 

This burden was for him and him alone. And what a burden it was!

He settles back uncomfortably. He needs to think. He cannot do nothing. 

He lets out a slow breath. 

Oh, Jaeherys!

Jaeherys was his brother and a prince of the realm. It should be so simple. If he reveals his suspicions, it will cease to be his burden. That would be enough. Yet, he knows it would not be so simple. It never can be. With what he suspects, where does the unburdening lead? Nowhere good, he knows, however, he cannot do nothing. 

He can have suspicions all he likes; it is knowledge he lacks. The only thing he knew is that Jaeherys drowned in unfamiliar waters. 

Tell or do not tell of his suspicions. That is his choice. That is his burden. He was going to be a king one day. Kings are required to make difficult decisions. Does he deserve to be king if he did nothing?

A voice inside him tells him, ‘How much does he want to know?’

What does he do now? What does he even know?

He knows Jaeherys is dead. He knows Jaeherys drowned. Young lords who visit strange cities without their overbearing mothers for the first time can get into all sorts of mischief through recently discovered daring. Drownings happen. Galladon Tarth drowned, after all. If only he can end it there. 

He cannot because this was no mere drowning. 

The way Baelor looked…

No, this was no mere drowning. 

He must make a choice. It does not mean he wants to make it! A proper prince, a proper king would uphold the truth. Even if he came from a line of kings, can he truly look to them? 

Of the kings he derives his name from, there is the Conqueror killed many to forge this kingdom. The second was a kinslayer by his own deeds. The third was a broken boy who became a broken man. The fourth was an example no one should follow. The fifth allowed his weakness for his blood-kin to draw the realm into chaos. 

Should he follow a Daeron? The first was a violent fool whose own hubris got himself killed. The second Daeron did everything right and was proper in all things and still drew ire. A Viserys, perhaps? One tried avoiding conflict which led the realm to ruin and the other may have also been a kinslayer who died unnaturally. 

Should he look to either Jaeherys? The Conciliator may be a great king who slowly killed his wife with his callous disregard. The second Jaeherys, his father’s grandsire, thought nothing of reaping the benefit of breaking his oaths but forced his children’s marriage and ruined both.

His own grandsire might have killed him if it suited his purposes while the first Aerys never seemed to want to act like he was the king.

Baelor the Blessed, then? That one killed himself over guilt for his own thoughts. Is that an example to follow or an example to avoid?

Should he look to his own father? 

He asks the question though he already knows the answer. No. He loved his father as a son ought to and before this, had been dutiful, but, he never trusted him, not fully. He learned that lesson early. 

_He asks, “Why can’t I stay with Mother like Rhaenys does?”_

_His father frowns slightly. “You are to be king one day. You are needed closer to King’s Landing.”_

_“Then, why can we not stay together?”_

_His father sighs heavily and there was a flush scaling up his father’s cheek. “Your mother and I cannot stay together because we are no longer married.”_

_He insists, “You used to be.” He wasn’t stupid. He listened to the Maester at Dragonstone and read his histories. Grandmother and Viserys also told him so._

_His father can only agree but there is a weariness on his face. “Yes, now I am married to Lyanna and we have Jaeherys together.”_

_“Can’t you unmarry her and send them away like you did Mother and Rhaenys?”_

_Ser Arthur gasps sharply while his father looks away._

_His father never answered._

If his father could be trusted there would have never been a Jaeherys or a Baelor who may have orchestrated his death. But, Jaeherys had existed and Baelor may have had him killed. 

He remembers the first time he had been allowed to visit the Red Keep, sitting in in his father’s rooms.

_His father smiles at him. “Aegon, would you like berry tarts with your evening meal? Mother wrote you enjoy them.”_

_He smiles thinking of the treat, but, Jaeherys squeaks and the queen reports, “I promised Jaeherys we would have his favorite tarts today.”_

_His father frowns at his wife. “This is Aegon’s-”_

_The queen frowns, but, he finds himself looking at Jaeherys who avoids his eyes now. His own neck feels hot as the scrutiny of everyone else in the room is focused on him. What are they expecting?_

_His grandmother remains silent, yet, knew what her silent disapproval looked like. But, he knew his graces and princes are gracious and he wants them, mostly his father, to not dislike him. “It is alright father. Perhaps tomorrow?”_

_He remembers his father’s guilty look turn to one of relief. Jaeherys had smiled weakly at him. Still, he had smiled._

And now that boy is dead.

So, what does he do now? What can he do? Can he do nothing? What sort of man would that make him? What sort of king would he be if he did nothing? 

He thinks, ‘Damn it all, Baelor!’

Things had been going well, had they not? What possessed him to even-

He closes his eyes. He already knows the answer. The betrothal! 

Daeron had done right by his father and his other siblings and how was he paid in kind? If he knew how that fared, Baelor absolutely had. Baelor had been born before the War of the Ninepenny Kings occurred, his kinsmen fought in it and had been fighting in the Blackfyre rebellions that came before. 

Baelor had fought in the war his grandsire started.

But, it was only after the betrothal that Jaeherys is dead…After months, if not years, of delay the Starks finally agreed to the marriage between Jaeherys and Lady Sansa. Betrothals mean marriage and marriage means children and children mean rivals for Baelor’s kin through marriage. Otto Hightower in reverse. Is that what Baelor is to become? 

Oh Baelor! Though he felt no love for Jaeherys as a brother ought, he never wanted him dead. And for Baelor to…Surely Baelor knew him. He never wanted anyone to do it, especially on his behalf. He never would have.

What can he do now? What choice does he have?

If he does confront Baelor. Either Baelor will deny it or confirm it. Then, what? 

Confront him: Baelor denies it, and names him the liar. 

Confront Baelor and he would have to explain this to his poor mother. How was he going to explain that Baelor may have killed his half-brother? Even if she believed him, he would be the one responsible for ruining her married life, that would be the least of it and there was not a least of it. Rhaenys would be no better. He glances at his sleeping wife. Perhaps, Margaery would turn from him.He will ruin his own standing the eyes of all he loves; not to mention, Leto’s, and Duncan’s. 

If he confronts Baelor that gives Baelor time to sweep away all the remaining threads. If he has not done so already. The Baelor he thought he knew was a careful man. Were there even threads to clean up? 

Confront him: Baelor admits it, then what? Tell his father? He swallows because his father would relish the opportunity to kill Baelor. He is no fool or some empty-headed courtier. If he goes to his father, Baelor’s life is forfeit the moment his father enacts the violence befitting a father and a king. Baelor hated his father much longer than Rhaegar knew of it and returned it. Oh, they can pretend, but, he knew even if none of them spoke upon it. 

He reveals this and what happens next? How far can it go? Far, he knows, because he is not a fool. It will not end with just Baelor. He reveals Baelor’s role then what will happen to Mother and Rhaenys? Will they be drawn into things? Are they a part of it? Did they know?

He wants to think not. Baelor and Mother are united in most things, as it should be, yet, in this? He is not so naïve in thinking that had it been his father who Baelor had designs on she might not have many reservations but Jaeherys? No, his mother was not capable of such a thing. Even though he was never allowed to live with her as a son should have, he knew that much. But, will his father see it that way? Of course, not! Will anyone else?

Rhaenys never pretended she ever loved Jaeherys, and she never needed to. He knew it hurt their father, but, is his father not going to allow Rhaenys her feelings? After all, she had some memory of before Jaeherys was born and grew up at their mother’s knee in Dorne and at Baelor’s hand when the Reach had been on his family’s side. But, to conspire to kill him? No. Rhaenys was not one to keep a secret from Edmure and his good-brother did not seem the type. But, that does not mean that they will be unscathed.

And what of Leto or Duncan? Is he going to rob them of their father?

He exhales.

Once more he looks to Margaery. She adores her uncle; far more than her own father. Aemon adores Baelor as well. And with the new child… 

Is he to betray Baelor? How will the rest of his family see him when he betrays Baelor for his? For the father that none of them trust? If he submits Baelor to his father’s mercy, what will become of any of them? 

He runs a hand across his tired face. 

No matter if his brother deserves justice, this will be calamity!

And it’s all well and good to admit to Baelor’s part, but, it will not end there. It cannot. His father and his father’s wife will not let it. After all, Baelor was not the one to carry out the deed. 

The man or men who carried out the task surely would follow to death if Baelor had not already cared to see it through. But, how did Baelor know who to go to? While Baelor was a man of means, there are only so many possibilities available for him. 

Lady Lynesse would be the obvious choice…if she were guilty of conspiring with Baelor. What if she is guilty? But, what if she is not and still accused? Does his father make an enemy of her Trebor? Or perhaps, they will not touch Lady Lynesse because she is too far to touch. What about the rest of the Hightowers? Baelor is well liked in the Reach.

What was the alternative? How far was he going to go? Even if he could find himself punishing Baelor for even putting events in motion, and how far can he go? What exactly is Baelor guilty of? Is he going to question his cousins? Their mothers? Their everchanging Essosi associates?

But, that is not what he cares about.

He is no novice in these matters. His father will not just leave it to Baelor. 

His mother will be blamed and her kin. _Dornish as they are; Dornish as he is_ …

Perhaps, Sarella will bear the burden of his disclosure. His cousin could, of course, go see her mother, but, Oldtown has a harbor where the Feathered Kiss could dock. If he knows that, so does his father. Why had she gone east? His other cousins, of course, could also see their mothers, but, why only now?

Is he really going to accuse his cousins? And of what exactly? Going east? Which one does he accuse? One of them? All of them?

Who else would take umbrage? What would his uncles say? 

He reveals this and what do the Starks say? Oh, he was no fool in thinking they welcomed that betrothal between his brother and Lady Sansa, but, this? They will not take this silently no matter what their thoughts on him were.

He can try to shield anyone in the face of his father’s wrath, but, what good will that do when he himself will be implicated? And he will. He is not so stupid. Who else would be seen to benefit from Jaeherys’ death? Who else would have Baelor killed Jaeherys for? Would his father believe that he had nothing to do with it? Would anyone else?

He longs to scream and rage! 

Damn Baelor to the Seven Hells!

* * *

“I think I am going to go on a short ride,” he tells his mother and his wife over their meals. Baelor says nothing. And it suits him for now. He needs Baelor to speak; but, not here, not now.

But, the time he has dwindles. 

House of mourning nor not, most of the guests have come and gone and some were trickling away. Uncle Viserys was leaving in a week. He and his family would be leaving for Dragonstone last. This would be his only opportunity with Baelor as Mother, Baelor and Duncan were to leave in three days.

There will be no other chance for him. Perhaps, he will lose what little nerve he has left.

“A short one alone,” he adds, to placate the concerned looks he gets. He does not mean to run, but, his mind has not settled. He needs the truth from Baelor without an audience. Baelor owes him that much!

The concern of both ladies remains. He understands, after all, he’s not one for riding for no reason, let alone now. 

Mother asks, “No Kingsguard?” 

He shakes his head. By virtue of his position and living situation he is used to keeping his own company for the most part. “I need some time alone, I think.”

They are still not convinced. Even better. If he had not suspected Baelor’s hand in Jaeherys death, he felt guilty for using his mother and wife like this. But, he is not a fool, nor is he the only one who used his family. He will not be the only guilty one. 

Still, his fist balls together. Though his nails are short, they bite into his palm due to the ferocity of his anger. With a smile he cannot truly feel, he says, “Baelor can come with me, if that assures you.”

Baelor agrees easily. Good. Even better because the offer works as intended and he can see his mother’s and Margaery’s worry melt away.

Despite himself, his own worries slide away momentarily when Baelor agrees. Baelor will give him answers, whatever they are. Baelor owes him an answer. But, not now, not here. If they are no longer of a mind on things, this they can agree on. 

Good. He does not want Baelor to fight him on this. There was some guilt in Baelor’s eyes, yet, not so much. Baelor protected his mother, sister, and his wife and he has been doing it longer than he has. And now here he was using them against Baelor. But, more than guilt, there was pride in Baelor’s eyes. 

Pride and relief. He wonders at the pride, of course. Pride in him that he figured it out? Or pride that Baelor knows he will be taken to task about it? That he does not know. 

The relief is easier. After all, whatever will happen, there will be no one to witness it. That is not as reassuring as he would have hoped.

* * *

They ride far out into the forest. A cowardly part of him wants to keep riding and never look back. He does not want to suspect what he does. He does not want to have the conversation he needs to have. He does not want to know the truth. Then, he would have to make a choice among ugly choices. 

He must. He needs to know. He needs to hear the words for Baelor’s lips, no matter what they are. 

Oh Jaeherys…His half-brother. His poor, dead half-brother. Poor because he is dead or poor because the one who can give him justice hesitates in delivering it?

He must tear his family apart if he wants to give his brother justice. Is he willing to tear his family or the realm apart to do it? Does he want to? But, he needs to hear what Baelor has to say. 

This has nothing to do with logic and the unraveling of consequences. Oh, he can drive himself sick with reasons not to reveal what he knows but that does not change that his reluctance has nothing to do with the fear that the path of justice would take. 

He loves Baelor. He loves his father too and his own father showed no hesitation in tearing his life asunder and here he still is. Should Baelor be any different?

And so, deep in the forests, he stops his horse and swings down and plants his feet firmly upon the earth trying to prepare for something he feels woefully unprepared for. 

He’s shaking, he realizes as he secures his mount to a tree. By the time he’s done, he wearily watches Baelor drop from his own horse and do the same. 

For a too moment it was just like they were in Oldtown; when he could have thought better of Baelor. 

Baelor looks at him, waiting, as if to ask, ‘You had something to ask me?’

If that is the way Baelor this to go, he will oblige him: “You had Jaeherys killed.”

It was not a question. He can say he had suspicions, but he is not good at lying to himself. 

Without so much as a blink, Baelor admits, “Yes.”

Without a thought, albeit with a shaking hand, his right fist slams squarely onto Baelor’s nose. 

Even then, the crunch of bone beneath his fist causes him to go still even as Baelor stumbles back and falls. He barely registers the throbbing in his hand. But, the hand has gotten still. 

That thought is not satisfying nor is the memory of what just occurred. Baelor falling to the ground wasn’t either. Seeing blood streaming from Baelor’s nose as he unsteadily rises did not make him feel any better either. He’s not a violent man. He is not a meek one either, but, this is not an exercise of the sword arts and it is not a battle. He hopes it does not become one. 

He does not know what he hopes. 

His mind buzzes frantically. He wonders if Baelor will retaliate in kind; but, Baelor doesn’t.

Baelor softly asks, “Are you going to hit me again?”

He bites out, “I should do a lot more. He was a prince of the realm and HE. WAS. MY. BROTHER.”

“Your half-brother,” Baelor corrects, gently, wiping his nose with a kerchief. Baelor grimaces. “Who neither you nor your sister had much love for.”

“So what?” he demands. Unbidden, hysterical laughter bubbles out of him. “You did not have to kill him. He did not need to die for you to get me to admit it. I would have said so freely if you only told me that is what you wanted.”

Baelor winces, mindful of his new injury, even as he shakes his head. “You know that’s not what I want. I could never want that.”

He’d liked Baelor since the day they me. 

And he knew they bonded because they both loved his mother. At first it felt disloyal to his lady grandmother, but, his grandmother was Viserys’ and Daenerys’ mother, not his. There never was any need to pretend otherwise and in Sunspear and, later, Oldtown, they hadn’t.

How could the same man-

He frowns. No, Baelor might have been a good man or a great one perhaps, but, he was a man. And most men are the kindest to their own kin and their own people and are not so kind to their enemies. One does not grow up in the shadow of the courts of Aerys and Rhaegar Targaryen without knowing of Tywin Lannister. While he lived that man was not kind to even the children of his enemies when he had lived, or his own children for that matter. Baelor was a better man than that. Or at least he should have been. 

Still, Jaeherys had not been an enemy, to him or to Baelor. Still, Jaeherys had been his brother, though not in the truest sense. Baelor knew this.

He asks, “Then, what did you want? My praise? My gratitude? You cannot have that."

Baelor takes a step towards him and he takes one back. He ignores the hurt look Baelor gives him. “I did what I had to.”

“I could understand if it was my father. I am not so blind. You hate him for what he did to Mother and to Rhaenys. I get it. But, it’s not him you killed. What enemy of yours was Jaeherys? What ill had he done you? Give me the answer. I deserve to know.”

Baelor gives him a dark look. “That betrothal-”

He finishes, “Was not his idea and no reason for him to die.” He hadn’t even known if Jaeherys wanted it. And now there will be plenty he will never learn about Jaeherys.

_He wonders why Jaeherys came to see him._

_When the door opens, he prompts, “Jaeherys?”_

_Jaeherys’ grey eyes glittered with euphoria. “They said ‘Yes’”._

_His lips pull into a soft smile at Jaeherys’ enthusiasm. He heard Jaeherys had begged at every opportunity to be allowed to go see the world since he rarely got to leave the capitol except to come visit him on Dragonstone. Jaeherys had told him once, looking sheepish, that he had been used by Jaeherys to state his case to their father._

_“When do you leave?”_

_Jaeherys grins so widely. “In a month.”_

_“Do you know when you will be back?”_

_“Four months after that.” He’s practically bouncing._

_“Good. It would be good for you.” He means it. He always enjoyed his travels._

_Then Jaeherys grows into the somber one he is more familiar with. “Then, we are going to Winterfell when I get back.”_

_Right. Father had said the negotiations were nearing completion. “Looking forward to getting married? Or are you nervous? I know I was. It will work out. It did for me.”_

_Jaeherys starts staring at a point over his shoulder, a frown forming at his lips. “You said no to her.”_

_Because of whom she was, though he cannot tell Jaeherys that. There are some things better left unacknowledged and he has no need to start fighting with Jaeherys now when they are careful with each other as it is. “Not because of anything she did. She’s a lovely girl. She’ll make you a good wife.”_

_Of that he was sure. Lady Sansa was perfectly nice, but, he hadn’t wanted to marry her. Margaery was the one his mother and sister knew and spoke highly of. He knew he could be happy with Margaery. And he was with her and the son she gave him._

_Jaeherys swallows. “You chose the Tyrell girl instead.”_

_He holds in a sigh even as he gently reminds Jaeherys: “The Tyrells have been our allies for centuries and we owed Redwyne a marriage. Margaery is both.”_

_He’d been prepared to start talking about how they married Rhaenys to Edmure Tully because they’d owed them a marriage too, but he was grateful Jaeherys started to ask him about the food in Lys even though the food was one of the last things men their age would care about in Lys._

Blinking back the memory of the last time he saw Jaeherys, he almost strikes Baelor again hearing the words: “You know your histories well, Aegon.”

Baelor said the same words to him on one of his trips to Oldtown. Then, those words made him happy. Not today. Perhaps nothing Baelor will ever say again might. 

The trouble was that he did know his histories and so he knew that Daemon or Aegor had not been enemies to Daeron until after Aegon the Unworthy breathed his last. 

He growls. “That did not give you the right to do as you did and now you’ve gone and made me complicit in his murder.”

Baelor gives him a look of abject dejection. “You think I would be so careless? You would not be implicated.”

He argues, “That you did it is careless, and most of all, you are wrong in thinking that is only me that I am worried about.”

Baelor insists, “I took precautions. I will not be.” Not enough. There was never near enough precautions Baelor could have taken in the murder of a prince. But, the gall of him!

He retorts, “Better men, stronger men have been toppled by less, smarter men too. And this was no mere game. You had no right. You should be better than this. What makes you think that it would be you to suffer if this got out?” 

“Then, who?” How could Baelor be so blind?

For once he lets his bitterness ooze out of him. “It is not you they would blame even if you did the deed yourself. Oh, you’d die for it, no question. The trouble is, you would not be the only one. No one would think this is the idea of poor, pious Baelor Hightower, but, the blame would lie with others. Like my mother.”

And that, is the part he cannot forgive. Baelor’s eyes widen, almost comically. “Boy-”

Baelor does not get to claim the higher ground now! “Does Mother even know what may fall on her head? What you have done?”

Baelor looks as though he wanted to strike him! As if he had the right! “You dare say that about your mother? That she would be capable-“

He bares his teeth. “I never thought you would be capable of murder, either.”

Baelor’s eyes blaze with fury as he grasps for his cloaks. “For my family, I would. But, your mother, Boy? How dare you?”

He shoves down the warmth he feels and he shoves Baelor back. He cannot afford to extend affection now. “I dare because you did not, my lord”. 

Before Baelor gets word in He snarls, “You do not get to look hurt, not now. Gods bedamned, Baelor. Do you know the position you could have put my mother or Rhaenys in?” 

They are nose to nose now and he has Baelor’s tunic clutched in his fists. 

Baelor hisses, “Your mother has nothing to do with it. Neither did Rhaenys.”

He shakes his head, still furious. “You think anyone will believe it? How well did that work for Queen Myriah? Since you know the histories than I do, tell me, go on tell me! Or did I just imagine a rebellion broke out in her lifetime?”

Baelor raises his chin. “All the more reason.”

“Who she was proved enough fuel and here you went. My mother and Rhaenys deserved better from you.” 

“I deserved better” he does not even say. He knows that if it came between him and Baelor’s sons, or him and Rhaenys, Baelor would have chosen them. He would have understood, after all, Leto and Duncan were his own and Rhaenys was the daughter he never had. Baelor loves them. Him, he was just a convenient addition. He was always secondary to his own father, why would Baelor be any different? That does not even bother him. 

He needs to impress upon Baelor how largely he mis-stepped when it came to everyone else.

He shakes his head. “You may be clever Baelor, but, you are not a god. Did you think that nothing that goes to Essos can be brought back? His body did, no matter the state of it.”

Baelor glares at him. “It would not be tied to anyone. I made sure of that. Trust me.” 

Baelor takes a deep breath and wraps his hands against his. Once that might have been a comforting gesture. It cannot be one anymore. 

But, he makes no effort to pull away. Still, he finds himself sneering. “I did once. And here we are.”

There is hurt swimming in Baelor’s eyes, but, he does not allow himself to be moved. Baelor betrayed him. He trusted Baelor when he could not trust his own sire. Now, he cannot trust him either. What evil had he done to deserve this?

He continues, “I am afraid, Baelor. Let us be clear on that. But, what I fear most is that I am not the only one who could suffer for this and you are too blind to see it. You went too far. I am afraid of those that would seek to bring low the ones I love because you didn’t think beyond your petty revenges against my father-”

He almost does strike Baelor again at the look of utter outrage. Baelor hisses, “You think I waste my time thinking about your father?”

He shoves Baelor back but only just. He already hit Baelor once. He doesn’t want to do it again. He never wanted to hit him the first time. And now…One injury he can explain. He already carries enough of a burden without having to explain how his mother’s husband came to be black and blue if he let his temper rage. Neither of them can afford it. 

“We can play these games of what if he becomes powerful through his betrothals all you like but you know that match was practically a throw away. I hear both an Umber and a Karstark each already tipping their hands for their respective grandsons. No, I think you relish the opportunity to shove his face in how happy you made his ‘cast offs’ and enjoy knowing that there is no other son for my father to turn to. I am not here because I judge your likes and dislikes. I am judging your actions. What I will not accept is that you are deluding yourself into believing yourself untouchable or that even if you are others around you are equally so.” He snarls. “You get to go back and sit in your ivory and golden halls, but, it will not be you who suffers the worst of the consequences of your actions. I need you to understand that.”

He can’t help but smile though he can feel that it is twisted. Part of him relishes the way Baelor flinches back. “My father’s son dies, and no one would think anything of the discarded Dornish woman his mother supplanted or my sister who never loved him? Did you consider that even one barest whisper can cause them ruin? No, you did not. And you failed to consider that if this ever got out, either of them would be blamed while you would just be a gallant man goaded by his wife or a dutiful father taken in by a vengeful girl married to a traitor’s son. You are fool if you think differently. You are a fool to think anyone else would think differently.”

Baelor turns gray at that! As he should! But, he’s not done. “And somehow you escape, or they escape… what about my other kin, hmm? After all my mother’s kin have all the reason want ‘my only rival’ gone. And if I know Sarella would never have to leave Oldtown to see her mother when her mother can easily visit her, others can too. What about the rest of my cousins – a handful just happened to leave for Essos. Awfully convenient for you, isn’t it? So, Baelor Hightower, once again, are you going to stand there and tell me that my father or anyone else wouldn’t think of something that I can?”

And there it was, the realization he was hoping for. There was no joy and no satisfaction in him having to spell this out for Baelor and there is not one in knowing Baelor understands the gravity of their situation. He thinks with some emotion that he stomps down on, about how things are now tattered between them. Baelor ought to recognize that.

Baelor should have known nothing good came of plots like this, let alone murder. Oh, he is not such fool in thinking Baelor had not taken some measure of joy in this. Not the act of killing, of course, but, having a hand in something with far reaching consequences and defeating a rival in an unambiguous way. But, Baelor, wise in the service of his household and his lands, should have known there are better ways of vengeance than murder. 

And this may lead to both, yet. 

He lets out a blood curdling laugh. “Did you think that if my father learned of this, he would think they had nothing to do with it? Or me? Because he’s proven that he’s not above thinking the worst of anyone? That he would sit idly by-”

Baelor starts, “I-I didn’t thi-” 

As pained as Baelor looks, and perhaps he was in some way, he cannot allow himself to be tempered by it. This was Baelor’s doing and though Jaeherys paid the ultimate price, he is the one who will have to live with it. Baelor should have never put him in this position. He will not let the blame be laid at his feet even if the consequences are. Harshly, he finishes, “No, you didn’t think. And I only have two options: ruin the lives of those we both hold dear or pretend I do not know you killed an innocent.”

In that moment Baelor looked so old. “I swear it, Aegon. I never meant to put you in this position.”

“You did it anyway.” He shakes his head and straightens. “But, no matter. After all, you were not intending for that to happen. I know this. I do not blame you for not seeing how great a burden you heaped upon me is. How could you? Your father never gave you a reason to mistrust him and you never grew up knowing that it would fall to you to clean up the messes left behind by other’s callous disregard. That is something I know you avoid with Leto and Duncan and even Rhaenys. Me, though? You had no right to force me to remember something I already grew up knowing. After all, I live every day knowing what having such a burden is like because I have Rhaegar Targaryen for a father.”

That causes Baelor’s knees to buckle.

Baelor considered himself his sire’s better. In many ways, he’d believed that as well. That is no longer true for any of them. Baelor was too sure of himself and that caused him to be reckless. Baelor cannot continue this way and he cannot allow it; not when there is so much at stake. 

“So, what happens now?” Baelor asks, “What do you need from me?”

He almost laughs at that. How does he even answer that? Jaeherys cannot be brought back to life. He cannot plead ignorance of how the dead came to be that way or that whatever trust he had in Baelor hasn’t thoroughly broken.

He takes a breath. “Whatever games you think you need to play with my father, they end now. You have your house, your lands, your people. Keep to that. Never expect me to forgive you for this. Still, now that you have gone and does this, I will protect you from whatever many come to the best of my abilities because you have my mother, my sister and your sons, the only brothers left. But, I know you are used to leading. Because it led us here; from now on, I just need you to follow. Do you understand me?”

He will not reward Baelor for not asking to where or to what end and he doesn’t when he climbs back onto horse. 

Not another word is spoken until they get back to the Keep when his mother lets out a sharp cry at seeing the state of Baelor’s nose. 

She exclaims, “What happened?” as she all but drags Baelor towards a wash basin.

Good question…just not one where the true answer would be welcome. He forces a smile and quickly tells his mother, “Baelor stumbled.”

The words fly out of his mouth easier than they should have. Just as well. He cannot let not Baelor dictate things now. Because his mother is still concerned, he adds, “He was too overconfident in his movements.”

That he is technically truthful does not make him feel any better. To protect her husband, he is lying to his mother because that is the only way to protect them both. 

He supposes it is only right that he learns to become a skillful liar if his mother’s house is to remain peaceful. He wonders how long he can even guarantee that.

His mother, blessedly free of the thoughts that plague him, tuts about her husband no longer being of an age to act so wildly. He makes noises of agreement for reasons he wonders if he will ever be forced to reveal. Baelor does not correct either of them, except to tell his mother not to worry so much. 

To his mother he says, “I agree with that” while pretending that Baelor had not flinched. He adds, “His injury will heal.” Even if their relationship never will. “I will watch him more carefully from now on especially now that I know he does not step carefully.”

“Good luck to you,” she retorts. “He’s a stubborn one.”

“You have my solemn oath that I will not be so lax in the future”, he promises his mother. 

Baelor nods his head. Understanding? Obedience? Acceptance? 

Ultimately, he decides it does not matter what that is supposed to mean so long as Baelor thinks before he acts. Because neither can afford anything else. Not anymore.

* * *

“Why would you think Mother is happy about Jaeherys dying?”

The Gods truly made mockeries of them all. 

If not, then why had he walked in on his father and his wife discussing how happy Mother had looked and why. Naturally, the queen settled on one possible conclusion at the exclusion of any other. His father, of course, tried to placate his wife. 

Or perhaps not. His father is quite capable of his own fanciful ideas. The realm had seen that.

At his voice, his father went white while the queen purpled. “Aegon, I didn’t mean-”

Feeling the weight of Viserys’ hand around his wrist, he turns away from his father. Viserys warns, “Calm yourself, Nephew.”

Uncle Viserys looks disapproving, but, the way his gaze flits between him and his father, makes him believe he is not completely alone. For now, anyway. If only Viserys had truly known…

His nostrils flare. “Calm myself, Uncle? Why? Because there are so many ways ‘That Dornish snake is happy my baby is dead’ can be interpreted? Or is it natural that our people are accused of callousness simply because we dare breathe?” 

Perhaps he is being unfair to his uncle but had not his time with Baelor proved as much? 

His uncle gives him a tempered look that he ignores. Instead, he watches his father’s face go from white to red. Was it because his father and his wife were caught discussing his mother’s ‘cruelty’ or because his father remembered that Dorne is in all their blood, but, his son’s particularly!

He wishes he could be outraged. He is too disappointed in himself! How could he have been such a fool? 

He takes a breath because his uncle is right. He cannot afford to lose his temper now.

His fury is tempered pity for he knows how they lost Jaeherys and more because he knows who caused it. It does not mean he cannot be hurt or furious on his mother’s behalf. Baelor might have been the one to do it, but, now, it was up to him to protect her, wasn’t it?

His mother was innocent even if Baelor was not. Women, long since contentedly and comfortably married, rarely jeopardize their grown son’s settled prospects by killing others for decade old hurts. Even if his mother had any murderous intent, she would have saved it for his father and perhaps the queen, not his half-brother. Baelor might think that she would not have entertained taking such a part would ensure she would never be put in jeopardy. Having overheard his father and his father’s wife, once again he is reminded that he cannot forgive Baelor for was being wrong in thinking the possibility would never exist. 

Viserys, too, chimes in, “I am certain they had not meant to accuse Elia, Arianne’s aunt, of such a thing.”

At that, his father turns to his uncle, his face truly haunted. His father’s wife shrinks back as if she desires to disappear into the wall. Not so brave now, he thinks. Perhaps they forgot that his dear cousin was also his aunt by marriage or that Arianne was just as Dornish as his mother? 

Men can say whatever they want about the so-called rivalry the Dornish and the Reach, but, ‘Uncle Mathis’ never stooped so low. Ever diligent in looking after his sister’s children’s affairs, Lord Rowan never so much as had a bad word to say about Mother. But, here his mother is blamed and judged? For what? Looking happy?

Her being Dornish would be blamed. Oh, how he longs to tell Baelor about how mistaken his approach had been. But, how could he expect it from Baelor who never had to live with their own culture treated as a stigma for little reason. 

How funny it is. Somehow it was his mother and her heritage are found worthy of blame for a feeling. Still, Uncle is right. He must remain calm. He had not spent his entire life learning to control himself for a lack of it to fail him now. He has much to lose. Too much if he is not careful.

He was right in letting his anger flare towards Baelor who had been in the wrong. But, this? He cannot lose control in front of his father. The alternative means nothing good for him or for those he loves, especially since that number has shrunk.

He must have taken too long to answer because Uncle Viserys begs him again, “Aegon, please?” 

He takes another steadying breath. This was his fault. He should have known his father’s willingness to acquiesce to his wife’s musings.

Hadn’t he learned from the tedious entreaties during those countless discussions of his marriage? The queen, in her never-ending quest to heal the rift between herself and her kin, thought to buy it with him as the bait. He would have never allowed it and his father saw reason eventually, but, that was hard won. In truth, as he had said to Jaeherys, he had no enmity for Lady Sansa, who was kind and of good repute, but, he would never have never required his mother to call a Stark a good-daughter.

The queen, perhaps, never forgave him that, but, she should have known such a gambit would not have worked in her favor. Even betrothing Jaeherys to Lady Sansa had yielded little in the way of reconciliation!

He shoves that thought away. He is not a child anymore. He cannot cast her as the only villain when his father was the one responsible.

He will not play the part of his grandsire any more than he will cast his father’s wife as Serala of Myr. And even if the queen were such a person, his father is more than capable of doing his own thinking and doing his own acting.

As a child on Dragonstone, he wondered what purpose he served to his father besides as a tangible example of how unlike Grandfather Aerys his royal father was. Had his father wanted him or was it because his father had known support for himself would dwindle if he had not? Getting rid of a wife who could no longer give him children was one thing, a true born son who shared his looks was quite another. Why else would his father choose to keep him and not Rhaenys? So, he is fully aware, that this is his father’s doing and he knows his history.

He remembers back to one of his earliest visits back to the Red Keep and how it was then that his father mentioned that they would serve only for the queen to state “I already promised Jaeherys-”

A small thing in the grand scheme of things, but, taken collectively…

And now, even without Jaeherys, this?

This is what he had come here for? Even if he hadn’t feared for his mother and sister, had he truly been willing to tear asunder his world? For this?

He always felt badly for not being a loyal son to his father, but, oh he tried. He had been so careful. So diligent. He never tried to argue. He tried to let his father have his way if he could help it. And still, it is not enough? 

Baelor had been right in his own way. He could not trust his father. But, he grew up knowing that. To protect those he loves, the innocent ones left, it was up to him. He cannot leave it to Baelor.

He steps further into the room, closing the door, pulling his uncle with him. He gets himself a cup of wine to steady his nerves. Once more he relives the crunch of his fist against flesh and bone. He felt badly about deceiving his mother. It still was not satisfying. Nothing about it could be. After all, Baelor who should receive more than that! But, he cannot take a hand to his sire who was also his king. Baelor had done him wrong, but, his sire’s thoughts have done nothing except remind him how unsteady their bonds truly are.

When he thinks he can speak again, he settles in an unused chair before his father’s desk, like he has done countless times since he was old enough to sit with his father.

Yet, those days were different. The days he could think well of his father had been few. Now, does he even want to?

“My King” he starts and pretends he did not see his father wince. “My mother’s happiness has long since been severed from yours, and your unhappiness for that matter.”

His father breathes heavily. “I know-”

He makes a poor son to his father. And now that he knows what his father would think about his mother…

If his mother was a Dornish snake, what did that make him? It makes him his mother’s son when being his father’s son hadn’t worked well, doesn't it?

“Do you?” He interrupts just in time to see his father wince again. “Then, perhaps, you know like any mother, her happiness is tied to her children’s. In this case, mine.”

All three look to him in abject confusion. “My mother is to be a grandmother again.”

Despite his father’s mystified yet happy look being quickly taken over by one of guilt, his uncle laughs, delighted. “Really? And you did not tell us?” 

With a brief smile for his uncle, it slips the moment he turns back to his father. “Margaery and I thought it would have been in poor taste to make the announcement.” 

His father looks away as the queen lets out a nearly silent cry. He adds, “We had planned to wait for a moon or so.” 

Even if he held hatred in his heart for Jaeherys, he would have never crowed about his wife being child while they were here to mourn him. Knowing what he knows now, he could have given Jaeherys that much.

Before him, father sits down heavily, his shoulders slumped; his wife blanched.

Had he not overheard his father and the queen, what would he have said? But, he had. Like with Baelor, there is no going back now.

His father asks, “You told Elia and Baelor?” 

How many times he must disappoint his father today? 

He holds in the “Obviously.” He shrugs. “Margaery expelled some food in front of them.” 

His father tries to smile at him, seemingly mollified. It is a weak thing, he thinks. “I am sorry, it’s just-.”

His father seems always to be sorry.

He swallows the thought. He nearly heard the thought in Baelor’s voice and that is not a voice he longs to speak with just now. After all, he knows too well why his father is not at his best. Still…“I can understand this is a difficult time, but, Father, really? You know Mother would never-”

And she hasn’t. Baelor may lie to him or kill him yet. All the same, he trusts that.

His father says, resigned, “Yes, I know I know she would never-”

Somehow that never stops his father from believing something like this, does it? Keeping his tone level and setting his eyes completely on his father, he says, “I trust this is the end of this.”

“I am sorry, Aegon.” His father looks apologetic. Then again, his father was always apologetic.

For now, it looks like his father needs him to accept it. 

Can he give his father that? 

He always had and well, this time he cannot give his father what he deserved. “And yet, isn’t she a Dornish snake?” 

If his mother is that, then what is he who holds the secret of his brother’s death?

He saw his father and his wife flinch. “We had not meant…It-She looked happy.”

He wishes his father did not have the ability to hurt him. He should have outgrown that by now. “So, it is my mother’s happiness you begrudge, not our culture?” He gives his father a coy look though he feels disgust. “Yours too, Father, although somewhat more distantly. Is that supposed to comfort me?”

Then again, as with Baelor, would his father know what it was to be a comfort to him? 

No.

His father’s face twists. He waits for his father to say something more. Because, surely, there should be a denial at least, to give the illusion that this was not a farce.

Nothing more comes except a slight tremor in his father’s hands.

He told himself not to be disappointed. It was his fault for holding out any sort of hope, not his father for thinking exactly what he will about his mother. If Baelor can ignore what his mother’s culture would mean when they spent years together, how could he expect anything from his father who took another wife while his mother was still married to him! 

He shakes his head and pushes himself to rise. Coming here was a mistake.

He cannot stay here. He cannot bear to be in the same room as his father. “If you will excuse me, I think it is nearly time for the meeting with the council, is it not, Father? I must apologize, I must have cut into your time to prepare for it. I think we are done here.”

He says it though they all know what he and Viserys interrupted was not that. 

“The meeting?” His father’s voice shook.

Had his father forgotten about it? Perhaps or perhaps hearing certain things from him has left his father rudderless.

Perhaps it was grief. Quite a thing…grief. It affects so many in different ways. And Rhaegar Targaryen has much to grieve. A daughter he gave away a long time ago, a dead son, and one living son who he believes he lost face in front of. 

If only his father knew the truth of it…

“I-” His father starts and stops, looking unsure.

He says, “Perhaps it is best if I do take it.”

He can give his father this much. Being the king’s Crown Prince, he is used to. There was comfort in that which he has not found in being his father’s son. Now, perhaps, he never will find any.

The thought does not fill him with as much sadness as it should.

His father nods, agreeing because there is little choice. Either do his duty himself or leave it to his son; his only son now. The one whose mother he just insulted. “Take it, will you. I am not-” 

He nods swiftly and turns towards Viserys because he lost any desire to remain here. “Will you dine in my apartments the night before you go, Uncle?”

Viserys replies, “Yes, of course, Nephew,” in a tone he knew, from their years together on Dragonstone, is false in how casual it was.

He turns around with a short bow leaving his father with his wife and his grief. 

It was not until he was in the chambers of the small council that he remembered why he had even gone to see his father. 

Poor Jaeherys. He had not lied to Baelor; he hadn’t loved Jaeherys. He liked him well enough, but, they weren’t friends. 

Now having left his father, he wonders if he ever been a good brother to Jaeherys.

Rhaenys never felt the urge to claim Jaeherys as anything but their “half-brother” and acted accordingly. But, she had flashes of that time he did not.

When he had been younger, he had felt guilty for not doing more. Then, there never really had been an opportunity. And they were not even really brothers because when the opportunity presented itself neither one of them knew how to go about it.

They had been polite to one another when they were near, of course. They had similar lessons though he had a fair bit more from what he remembered of the brief conversations in the rare times he visited King’s Landing or in the rarer times his father and Jaeherys visited Dragonstone. 

Mostly, they talked about swordplay and books they read but there was nothing he shared with Jaeherys that he hadn’t told Viserys or Leto or Duncan or even Quentyn or Edmure for that matter.

After he grew and learned the ways of the world, he had not tried to pick fights him or give into bitterness that Jaeherys got to live with their father and his mother while he was sent to his grandmother because his father would not let him go to his mother. Knowing what he knows now, about how his brother had died, he should have been good to him, to his memory at least. 

He concludes he was not. How could he claim that when it was all too easy to let his brother fall to the wayside because he couldn’t be a good son to his father today?

What sort of man did that make him? 

The kind with too many to think of because he cannot leave it to Baelor…the kind that stopped leaving such a thing to his own sire.

Yet, even if he could have been a better brother to Jaeherys, to be good to his brother, he’d have to tear apart his mother’s life and his sister’s. Could he do that to them? 

Did he even want to?

What does it say about him that he felt relief when the Hand comes through the door so that he didn’t have to think about his brother?

* * *

He kneels before the altar of the Father and prays for guidance as he never has before.

He looks up towards the bearded figure. 

His lessons said the Father protects his children and that the Father’s domain was justice. In this, who better to turn to besides the Father?

Where else can he go? Who else can he turn to?

What father does he side with? Which one does he betray? 

He stares up at the bearded figure. 

Fathers…

Which father does he choose?

Father…

Perhaps had he had any belief, kneeling at this altar and praying might have worked. 

If he had been less conscious of where he was, he would have laughed out loud. Except he is conscious of his surroundings; he always was. He knows how to be careful. And he was careful about the people he is around, the ones he trusts, the ones he loves.

But the one thing he does not know about is truly having a father. 

His sire had been at war until he was nearly a year and barely kept him for a few months. He knew his mother’s fear drove his father to relent in giving him and he knew of his father’s protest. Ultimately, he had ended growing at Grandmother Rhaella’s knee while his father visited Dragonstone not quite once a year, usually around his name day. 

He understood, truly, he did, that he had to share his father with the realm, but, on the rare occasion his father made it to Dragonstone, his father had a wife and another son waiting in King’s Landing if they, had not, in fact, accompanied his father. On the rarer occasions he was called to the Red Keep, though it was to be his one day, he felt like visitor until he was old enough to engage his father in matters of governance. 

They shared duty, of course. They both had a love of books, though he, like uncle Viserys, preferred tales of adventures to portents. They both talked of the artistry of weapons and warcraft, but, in terms of the practicality and lessons that his father rarely had the opportunity to show him himself. The Master-at-Arms and whichever Kingsguard knew more about the weapons he favored than his sire had. 

As for Sunspear and at the Water Gardens, there was no father for him. The only reason he could visit his mother, with his faraway father’s reluctant blessings, was because his grandmother insisted. Still, he went because it was his right as a son of a daughter of Dorne and Grandmother Rhaella was not going to visit Sunspear and take her son while leaving her grandson behind. There were uncles, of course, indulgent while being fierce in their own ways and ways that his own sire rarely was. There was even Cousin Manfrey, but, still, as with King’s Landing, he had been a visitor in his mother’s lands.

A few years later his mother and sister left to live with Baelor, he had been allowed to go to the wedding. After all, Ser Gerold was a Hightower and the Hightowers had been allies, and the Hightowers had sway at the Citadel. Grandmother publicly voiced every reason except the obvious one. 

For all his father’s shortcomings, he had not refused Grandmother when she pressed. 

He sighs softly, remembering how rarely she had pressed. He will forever be grateful for taking him on, but, he learned early on the limits to which she would extend herself with him. He did not blame her, of course, after all, he had heard what had been done to her, by her own parents and Grandfather Aerys. 

He knew full well why she had not pressed more. For a woman bound in duty towards family and the realm nothing good could have been gained from annoying her son who was also her king. Grandmother Rhaella had been a good woman and she tried to fill the void left behind by the fracture of his parent’s marriage, but, what was a grandson when there were sons and a daughter to consider? And she had more than one grandson, didn’t she? 

And Baelor…Before his mother’s wedding, he was finally allowed to visit Oldtown; to see his mother and sister for more than a week. He swallows remembering that first trip. 

The room he was given was done up in his favorite colors, during the wedding feast each course featured one of his favorites. But, those were things that were learned mostly through formal letters he sent and things passed along by people who still had some semblance of loyalty from Mother’s time on Dragonstone.

The first night his lady mother settled into rooms to read to him, Baelor had watched from the doorway with that gentle, indulgent smile that he had come to see was the same one Baelor directed at his own sons. 

Baelor took him along to the Citadel, no one else went with them. He remembers being so honored that Baelor was willing to spend hours with him pointing out various tomes, letting him touch ancient scrolls, and introducing him to the Archmaester. Still, he knew that must have taken Leto, Duncan, and Rhaenys countless times. He did not begrudge them that, but, once the realization came, it could not be erased.

His mother had to give him back every time and he had been sent with a Kingsguard to ensure it. Rhaenys, Leto, and Duncan had been willing to share their jokes that he never knew the origin of. 

And yes, Lord Leyton hadn’t yelled at him when he and Leto raced up and the tower steps and Lady Rhea snuck him sweets while Willas Tyrell, Baelor’s squire, let him tag along when he was out in the training yard. He was happy, of course, to be included, but, that did not change that they would have done that had he been just the son of any other guest. 

And though they masked it well, one would have to be blind not to see the pity for the boy whose mother could not take him and the one's whose father had another family.

Then, he savored all that Oldtown had to offer and though he left the city with a volume about Baelor Breakspear Baelor pushed towards him with wink, he knew full well he was a guest, if an honored one, because Baelor married his mother. 

He’d been so pleased that he could finally have memories of his mother and sister that were not just dim flashes. Yet, they were also tainted in some way.

So, no he does not know what it is to have a father because he never was a son to either man. He knew that as surely has he knew that to have a too short memory did no prince well. Was his father not a prime example of that?

Perhaps, that was why he found it easier to be the King’s Crown Prince. But, was not the duty of a Crown Prince to report treasonous acts or the hints of them? But, such as it is, what about his family? Can he bear the consequences if he speaks? Can he bear the weight of his silence? His family will not withstand this.

Which path does he choose? Which “Father” does he pick?

He has two he can pick from. Is that not worse somehow? That he cannot make the choice is a mark against him. He makes for a poor son. 

He sighs though he keeps his face neutral. He knows the High Septon is watching.

With one more glance up, he decides: enough.

He will not get an answer. These were his Gods, and his sire’s and mother’s husband’s, though he knew neither man was devout at all; but, he will have no answer here.

With one final glance at the Father, he rises, meeting the High Septon’s gaze. “Please remember me in your thoughts, Your Holiness, and pray that the Gods give me strength to carry my burdens.”

The old man smiles and insists that will be done and he leaves the Sept as burdened as when he came.

Going to the Sept for this had been a waste of time, he decides as he makes his way down the grand stairs. He should have known he was never going to get an answer from the Father no matter how hard he prays. 

He never had a father to speak of. What succor can he get from a statue of one?

* * *

A soft voice breaks his reverie. “You look too morose for someone taking his son out for an adventure.”

He reaches out for Margaery’s hand for a kiss. He grins at his son who climbed into his lap. “Is that what you are calling it?”

He never had a father. It was well past time he acted like he ever had. That opportunity was lost years ago. He had just been to blind to see it. He will have to accept that like he must that he cannot be a good son to his sire and Baelor was never his father even if he was his mother’s husband. 

What he can do is still be a good son to his mother, a good brother to Rhaenys, a good husband to Baelor’s niece, and a good father to Aemon and the ones that will follow.

“Papa? You haven’t told me where we are going.”

He runs a hand through Aemon’s soft hair, in a gesture familiar to both. A lump settles in his throat thinking that if he held out both hands, one for his father and the other for Baelor, he could count on his fingers the times either man had done the same to him and have fingers left over.

He forces a smile on his face and addresses his son. “You know that your Uncle Edmure is going back to his home, yes?”

Aemon dutifully replies, “Yes, Father.”

“I need your help.”

Aemon is thunderstruck. “My help?” His son beams at him. 

He shares a smile with his wife. “You and I are going to get gifts for your aunt and Edmyn, your cousin. And another one.”

At Aemon’s pout of confusion, he adds, “Your aunt is with child.”

Aemon asks, “Like mama?” Aemon’s face brightens. Though he and Margaery had impressed upon Aemon the importance of secrecy before leaving Dragonstone, he had been enthusiastic about being a big brother. 

He shares a look with a beaming Margaery. “Yes, just like your mama.”

Aemon gives him a cheerful whoop when he learns they are going to the markets themselves rather than have merchants bringing their wares to them. 

A smile tugs at his lips the way Aemon pulls at him, eager to go now! 

Much to Aemon’s chagrin, it was not for a few hours that they, foregoing their usual finery for simple cloths and nondescript cloaks, traipse out the Red Keep with Ser Jaime, the only one of the Kingsguard he’d allowed himself to bring. 

While the knight bemoaned that he’d have to dress similarly and, at his urging, buy gifts himself for his own family, Aemon had thoroughly enjoyed getting to see the markets of King’s Landing for himself and he loved it. 

And if the young lion cared to notice there was no gift for his father among the pile that even included gifts for his aunt and her husband, the Lion knight had not said anything. There was no gift for Baelor, either; not that he expected Lannister to recognize it. 

Viserys said nothing when Aemon was telling him about ‘their adventure’ and about how he helped pick out the necklace Margaery was wearing and the bracelets that went to “Grandmama”. 

But, Viserys had noticed the lack of a gift for his father. And so, while Margaery and Aemon went to bed, as they finished the last of the wine, Viserys asks, “Still mad at him?”

He asks a question of his own. “Did you ever stop being mad at yours?”

Viserys huffs over his cup. “I suppose you got me there, Nephew.”

“Then, what do I do?” He asks because he is curious and because he’s desperate to know how to act now. He cannot go back towards ignorance now. Can he forgive either of them?

Viserys shakes his head. “If you cannot forgive him, go about your life.”

“Just like that?”

Viserys runs a hand across his face. Then, gives him a weary look. “I suppose it is different for you, Nephew. Rhaegar never set a person on fire or ravaged your mother-” They exchange uncomforted stares before Viserys swallows heavily and finishes, “Or his wife. Much better than your grandsire though that was not worth much to me. I was of an age to see my brother lighting the first of his own fires.”

Growing up on Dragonstone, before they left Viserys at Sunspear, he and Viserys had spoken about the time before war broke out and after, though far from Grandmother’s hearing. Coming from Viserys, this is not new. That does not help him come to any decision about what to do now. “That isn’t very helpful.”

Viserys laughs. “Most of my youth-” His uncle snickers at his bland look. Viserys might be older but he was not old. Viserys smirks and continues, “I overheard many expressing many things about how I might be like my father or brother or worse. Seven Hells, I swear I almost soiled myself the first time Oberyn welcomed us to the Water Gardens, spear in hand.”

Knowing how well the men got on eventually, he still felt a stab of pity for the memory of his then young uncle. That first time he visited Sunspear and the Water Gardens, he’d been greeted warmly at Sunspear and had been too young to notice if his uncle and his grandmother were welcomed in the same way.

Still, he feels the need to defend one uncle to the other. “He wouldn’t have done anything.”

Viserys laughs low in his throat. “At ten and three I was glad no one was trying to save Arianne from a monster by poisoning my food.” Viserys smirks, “But, there is something about people thinking the worst of you.”

They both let out a snicker. He replies, “What? That you didn’t have a difficult standard to surpass?”

Viserys chuckles. “That helped.” 

Bemused, he asks, “So what do I do?” 

He is too late to protect Jaeherys now. Who does he protect? His father or Baelor. Ignore a murder or watch his world burn. What does he do?

Viserys shrugged as he rose and patted him on the shoulder. “You have a wife and child…well children now, I suppose. And a kingdom soon, too. That is enough to be drowning in. Figure out what is most important to you. You will make yourself crazy trying to please everyone or to save everyone from everything. We already had too much of that in this family.”

* * *

When he arrives at the Throne Room, he gazes up at the empty seat wondering if it will reject him for his secrets. That moments end quickly, perhaps too quickly, he thinks, as he takes the seat with no incident.

_“Father, why I do not live with you?”_

_His father and Ser Arthur trade uneasy looks. “It was decided a long time ago, to protect you, that you would stay with your grandmother. Do you not like staying with your grandmother?”_

_His cheeks flush from guilt. He liked his grandmother but… It just was not fair._

_Recognizing how troubled he was, his father beckons him. “Son, come here.”_

_He shuffles over wondering if he upset his father by this. He had not wanted to._

_“Rhaenys got to live with Mother and Jaeherys gets to live with you. Why is it just me?”_

_His father blinks and shares another look with Arthur who, then, leaves the room._

_His father sighs heavily. “To be a king like I am, and you will be one day, is a great privilege, but it is a burden. One of those burdens is that we must make certain sacrifices. For the many, sometimes we must sacrifice comfort of the few. It is a hard thing and I wish I did not have to ask it of you. Yet, that is the burden we carry. You will be stronger for it. I know you will.”_

He doubts his father had this in mind. 

He settles back and gestures for the doors to open. Men and women file in. It is the last two that catch his eyes. 

They are as different as night and day, his silver-haired sire and his mother’s brown-haired husband. Both usually capture the attention of any room they walk through and there they are swathed in shadow, pressed against the back of the hall. Both were here to see him.

Two men, both men capable of love and capable of casual cruelty. Baelor orchestrated a murder without thinking of the consequences. Yet, it was rooted in love of a sort, even though he does not want to admit it. And he knew his father loved him though it was not a love that he needed or desired. However, if his father had not been capable of cruelty, then he would have grown up at his father’s knee not his grandmother’s. And if his father could not see the innocent for what they are, then no one he loves is safe. 

Today both men were watching him, waiting to see what he would do. 

It is funny, he thinks to himself. Both men are nothing alike, except in one thing: they poured their hopes for the future into him and now they have no option. And he will give them none.

In their own ways they both led him here.

As he gestures for his first supplicant of the day, he sends a silent apology to Jaeherys before putting him out of his mind entirely. 

His father is right to think there was snake in their midst. He had been mistaken about the identity of that snake. After all, how can Elia Martell be a snake when likes of Rhaegar Targaryen and Baelor Hightower exist? 

How could anyone else be a snake when he exists? 

He had been wrong in the Sept when he thought he had no father. How could he think that when he was exactly like both?


End file.
